


Hidden

by SparrowGlas



Category: South Park
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anxiety, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Explicit Language, First Kiss, First Time, Hurt, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Verse, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Size Difference, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:07:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27352441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SparrowGlas/pseuds/SparrowGlas
Summary: Stan was grateful for what days the boys spared for him as they got older, passing their sweet sixteens and onto their seventeens when all the others in the class began to show their second genders.Until he was the only one left.Stan Marsh, the only eighteen year old in South Park that had never undergone a Presentation.
Relationships: Craig Tucker/Tweek Tweak, Eric Cartman/Wendy Testaburger, Kenny McCormick/Leopold "Butters" Stotch, Kyle Broflovski/Stan Marsh
Comments: 24
Kudos: 127





	1. Sad Shape

The shape his life had fallen into was a pitiful one that did not surprise Stan Marsh in the least. 

As far as he was concerned, his mother had been a woman pushed far beyond her limits even before his father had taken them to to the dreadful farmhouse. It had not been a rare occasion to see Sharon Marsh dark-eyed and and tear-stained at the kitchen table most early mornings, with an untouched cup of cold coffee in front of her and yesterday's clothes still on. 

He had learned quick in those early years to keep his concerns to himself though. As much as she loved him, Sharon had grown swift to throw him the dirty looks she had once reserved for Randy alone. Her tongue was spiteful when she had not slept the night before and one too many slaps to his cheek at the brittle age of ten and eleven had left him with a pendant for fast-fleeing the woman's presence when she was in one of her 'humours'. 

Shelly was of no help in that department. As the years dragged on in that little farmhouse with their father's business flourishing around them; the older girl had become a personal demon. 

She was quick with her cutting remarks, cruel in her comments, her own punches and sly kicks leaving a litany of bruises across his shins and arms that he grew accustomed to hiding. There was no love lost between the siblings, and when Shelly had left a note one frigid January morning to say that see had taken off with her current boyfriend at the gentle age of seventeen; Stan had had to contain the sigh of relief. 

The year following Shelly's break of contact with her family had been a dark one. 

His father's usual baleful cheer was strained at best, the man sinking more of his time and effort into his blends and his products, and spending nearly every new penny he made in the local bar. He so often reeked of alcohol and weed by the time Stan turned fifteen that, when he smelled of anything but, it was a strange and unusual thing. 

His mother had gotten quiet, the slaps and screams a thing of the past as she sobbed quietly to herself each time Stan made her a cup of tea and patted her arm in passing. Frightened as he may have been that she could turn on him, or lash out, she was his mother and he loved his mother. She loved him too, he knew it, in the way she pushed a glass of orange juice in his direction every evening after his sixteenth birthday came and went with no fuss; or in the way he sometimes caught her looking at him when she was lost in thought. 

Stan made sure there was always a blanket near that he could drape across her lap, he worked hard when he got a part-time job at the town pet shop to be able to buy and cook dinner for them both. If he was feeling charitable, he would even leave a plate for Randy; the sorrowful weeping and soft ping of the microwave heating it up at two o clock in the morning was a sound he had never been able to fully block out. It always seemed to wake him up.

While his father worked himself to madness on the farm or drank himself to a slow death wherever he was most evenings, and while his mother vanished inside herself for days at a time, Stan tried to keep the house in order. When he wasn't working or in school, he was usually putting the old home back to place. A broken bottle was swept up and discarded in the glass bin, an unpaid bill was highlighted in yellow and pinned to his father's 'Idea' board, the only place the man might see it in a somewhat sober state. Stan grew to even like the busy work as the time ticked on. He reveled in the days when his mother and father vanished for hours at a time, whether to drink or work or wander aimlessly. Those days when the house was silent and he could tear out the presses to scrub the insides without Sharon hissing at him from the table; or when he could sweep the bedrooms without having to thread so very quietly passed his father's door because the man was sleeping. 

Stan worked hard. He worked hard at home because he needed to, he worked hard at his work to be sure that he was kept on and given every payable hour he could get. He worked hard in High school to get decent grades, despite the teasing he had gotten when he first started, because he knew a decent college was a means of escape. As much as he loved his parents, as much as he did his best by them; Stan ached to be rid of them, and he hated himself for such a feeling.

So he worked hard, a distraction from his own morbid thoughts, a way to clear his guilt that he would one day leave the pair to fend for themselves. He worked hard to push the concerns of his home and family to one side each and every time he was offered a rare day out with his friends. 

They were not as close as they had been as children, and that was putting it mildly. 

Their group had splintered, sometimes joining in with others and sometimes just a scant two or three of the original pack left to chat on a school bench as the others inter-mingled. Sometimes, on the days he tried least to think about, it was just him. 

Eric had fast made genuine friends when he had started channeling most of his pent up aggression into Football; though his semi-stagnant attitude and snide quips were still unbearable enough that on the rare days where he joined in on a conversation, Kenny was quick to send him back to his teammates with a well-timed knock-down to the Jock's ego. As much as Eric tried to scowl him down; the well-built, Beta brunette was not one to push his luck when it came to the gangly blonde. 

Kenny had been one of the first in South Park High to present. 

It had happened in Math class, Stan could recall as clear as day. The teacher had obviously scented him first, her mouth clapping shut on whatever she had been droning on about as she slammed her hand down on the button that called the nurse. For a moment, he had only been confused, before Kenny had let loose one of the most startling sounds Stan had ever had the misfortune of hearing in his life. The classroom had been cleared so quick, he barely remembered who had grabbed him by the arm and dragged him outside.

As a kid who had grown up with only Betas as family, in a small town where the population was more than sixty per cent Beta; hearing an Alpha growl for the first time had damn near made him wet his trousers. 

The scene was one many adults in South Park still blamed for the sudden amount of early Presentations that came in the months that followed it. Craig had been next, his tall, scowling form suddenly arrive into school after a six day absence with one lean arm draped across his boyfriend's scrawny shoulders. He had all but radiated Alpha, himself and Kenny nearly coming to blows in the Hallway when the blonde quipped something sarcastic in his direction. Stan had been sure the two would rip each other apart before any of the scattering teenagers had a chance to track down a teacher.

Kyle had been the one to intervene, as Stan remembered, the redhead furious as he glared up at the pair of them and pointed a shaking finger at a silently sobbing Tweek. The pitiful whine Craig had let loose at the sight of the smaller boy had been enough to break the tension and stop them tearing the other's throat out. In the weeks that followed, as more and more students presented as Beta, something of a truce had formed between the two Alphas. 

Of course, with the balls it had taken to step in between two snapping Alphas, Stan had been sure that Kyle would follow. 

Sure enough, there came a day when he had deigned the house clean enough and his mother in her senses enough that he had sought out Kyle for a much needed trip to the arcade. He had been beyond terrified when Sheila Broflovski had opened the front door and Kyle's snarling voice had barked something incomprehensible form the kitchen. The woman had offered Stan a quick pat on the cheek, her head shaking when he asked for Kyle; though he had known the answer himself when he heard another growl tear through the suburban home. 

Kyle had become an Alpha. 

Though the boys tried to keep their friendship intact in the weeks that followed the Presentation, it was nearly impossible for Kyle not to be drawn away to the groups of others who had presented. Alpha, Beta, even Butters as the unexpected new Omega had taken precedence over him. He could hardly blame them, in a town where so little happened and life was boring; it must have been hard not to be wrapped up with new hormones and new scents, new ways to learn to navigate the world. Stan was grateful for what days the boys spared for him as they got older, passing their sweet sixteens and onto their seventeens when all the others in the class began to show their second genders. 

Until he was the only one left. 

Stan Marsh, the only eighteen year old in South Park that had never undergone a Presentation. The only kid who was about to graduate High School without a title. 

It was near unheard of, drew whispers that were both curious and sympathetic as he passed by people who would once smile down at him. 

"A tragedy."

"A strange thing that, for a boy his age to be without a scent."

"The poor dear, he'll never get by." 

Stan had learned to ignore them. He kept his job in the pet store, though he thought the elderly woman who owned the small shop might cast him out. She only offered him a sad smile the one time he had gathered the courage to ask and patted his back, her Beta scent unknown to him. 

"This world is cruel, dear. Far be it from the likes of me to make it any crueler." 

So, he had kept his part-time job. 

It was a safe spot and he adored working with the animals that helped brighten his days. He bought his groceries in the local shop and ignored the whispers that still followed him around. He drove back to the farm in his dad's old pickup and started dinner for his mother and she pushed a glass of orange juice in his direction. He tidied the home and set Randy's dinner in the microwave, before he got a start on his homework. His routine was a solid one, and it was rarely interrupted.

And after all that was done, he dared to hope for a message from a friend on a phone that was so often devoid of them; and then, Stan Marsh cried himself to sleep. 

If he blamed anyone for the sad shape his life had taken; it was, most assuredly, himself.


	2. Part of the... Nope

Stan's tactic for a lunch about to be spent alone, was to usually spend it in the library. 

The room was a decent enough size and filled with enough shelving and wedged tables to be able to find a spot in some dim corner where he wouldn't hear to gossip of his classmates. 

There was a spot beneath a window that he was beginning to mark as his own as the winter nights crept ever closer to Spring. Cold into cold, as was custom in South Park. January always hit with a chill that often stole his breath away despite the hoodie and jacket he clutched around himself while outdoors. 

Inside though, in his little corner of the library, Stan could wedge himself against the heater that spluttered out the barest amount of warm air and pull his hat off his head with a sigh. His hair was longer than his mother liked, though she never said so out loud. He had only her mildly disgusted looks to go by each time he ran his fingers through it. It was just about reaching his collarbone in an act of defiance that he was sure would be sapped out of him with the coming weeks. They usually weren't worth the effort.

Still, for the moment he was happy with the silky black locks that curled where they met his collar. It softened what he thought was a chin a tad too sharp and brought out one of his best features, his baby blues. 

Stan rubbed his pale fingers together as he pulled the sleeves of his yellow hoody down over his arms, reaching out to pull his study folder closer. There was a fair chunk of it highlighted in green, he saw with a small hum of satisfaction, indicating that he was ahead of himself when it came to his studying; though he scowled down at the subjects and chapters marked with a dark red sticker that all but glared back up at him. Study as he might, there were some subjects that took time to wrap his head around and those bad boys were subject to the red sticker of doom. 

Stan jumped as a packaged sandwich was slid in front of his face, eyes darting up to find a familiar face grinning down at him. He huffed a laugh. 

"Hi Butters..."

"Hiya Stan!" The blonde was as bubbly and as bright as he had ever been, though a tad more shrewd in how he handled himself. His butter-yellow hair was cropped short on the edges, the curls on top flopping over his dark brown eye as he plonked himself into the chair across from Stan. "I'd ask ya what it was that binder did to earn such a dreadful glare, but I don't think I wanna know." 

He giggled at his own joke, his paler, grey eye always crinkled with more laughter lines than the brown one. That the boy had kept his eye at all, and his sight, after what had happened to him years ago was a miracle in itself.

Butters was a good looking lad. 

In a sweet, milk-maid sort of way, his bouncy blonde curls and his full pink cheeks were beyond endearing. He was perfectly sized in height and had the slim waist and round hips any Omega would be proud of. Though some people thought Butters' condition unsightly, a regretful take from his 'otherwise' good looks, Stan thought the blonde's bi-coloured eyes only added to all his charm. 

The blonde was smiling still, as he tugged his own purple fleece close around himself and nudged the sandwich closer. 

Stan sighed, drawing himself up to sit straighter. His height was a sore point that he was often reluctant to admit to, being as he was the smallest of a class of near thirty students, as well as the only misfortunate sod with no second gender. "I do bring my own lunch you know." 

Butters hummed, dropping his chin into his open palm with a smile full of perfectly straight, white teeth. "Call it Omega's intuition if you want, think of it as doing me a favour." The blonde arched an eyebrow at him. "Eat the damn sandwich, Stan."

Omega's intuition, his backside, Stan huffed as he tore open the packing and bit off the corner of the stuffing and chicken sandwich with an exaggerated sound that made Butters snort a laugh. His wages the past while had gone towards petrol and dinner for his parents and himself, with a scant amount left in case of emergencies. His lunches the past week had consisted of little more than whatever fruit he had been clever enough to buy last week and the packet of crackers he had found in his bedroom the night before last. It wasn't intuition so much as it was that Butters was probably the only who watched him on a day by day basis. 

Maybe it was an Omega thing, that whole nurturing shite being a part of their make up and all that. Butters was definitely that, he was a force to be reckoned with if some younger kids were being bullied and he stumbled on the scene. Maybe he saw Stan as some weird, overgrown infant in need of protecting. 

It could be that, Stan mused as he bit into the sandwich, or it could be the fact that Butters just saw a hell of a lot more than the rest of them wanted to see. 

The blonde had always been quiet and shy enough to take in his surroundings; the fact that he was one of the very few Omegas in South Park now, and far more popular than he had been, did not change what years of being excluded had started. Stan glanced up at the blonde with a small smile. 

"Thanks, Butters." 

The taller boy leaned back with a sigh, his lean legs stretching out beneath the small table to knock into Stan's. "The guys were thinkin' of havin' a little get together this weekend, maybe you should come?"

Stan did little to pretend his outward wince was not because something in that statement stung a bit. As accustomed to being left on the edges as he was becoming, it still hit a nerve to be invited out as an after-thought and not be a part of the group arranging the plans to begin with. 

"I dunno, Butters... It's weird when I'm around, dude..."

Butters puffed out an aggravated breath. "It is not weird when you're around, Stan Marsh. What's weird is leavin' a friend by the sidelines." Butter's Omegan growl was nothing compared to an Alpha one, but it set Stan's teeth on edge all the same as the blonde let it fall from his lips. He cut it off with a cough and a flush across his cheeks. 

"You're comin'."

Stan opened his mouth as Butters stood up, wincing when those gray, brown eyes glared down at him before the blonde flashed him a winning smile. 

"I'll text you."

###

The blonde had, in fact, stuck to his word and had texted Stan. 

A text so enthusiastic and sincere and far too filled with emojis, that it had led to Stan standing outside Craig Tucker's door after his shift Saturday afternoon, his hands buried in the pockets of his oversized blue hoodie and his hat pulled own over his ears against the breeze. The sound of music drifted out through the door, soft in the background as voices he could not make out shifted in volume inside. 

This was so stupid. 

He had not even seen the guys outside of a school setting in weeks, had not had a conversation with them that didn't involve school gossip or exams or homework in far longer; and now he thought it was alright to rock up to a house that belonged, not even to one of his friends, but to a friend of a friend? They were going to laugh him off the front step, shake their heads sadly at his pitiful excuse to wedge his way back into their lives... 

He should go... 

He should turn around and walk away and go back home where he was needed... 

"Helps when you knock on the door, dude." 

Stan shrieked and whirled around, earning a bark of laughter from Kenny as the blonde shushed him and caught his arm before he skidded off the side of the porch. 

"Jesus, Stan! Relax, dude, I was joking!" Kenny was grinning down at him, the hood of his orange parka pulled up but doing nothing to hide the wild, tawny blonde locks underneath. His dark blue eyes were wide with amusement. Stan had thought it before, and it was hard no to think it again, but the guy was a freaking model up close. His skin was tan despite the weather, and clear, with a smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose that gave him this faux-innocence that Kenny worked in his favour. 

He had grown well, despite the malnutrition he had suffered from, lanky and tall but lean from years of building muscle on the South Park swim team. His hand was warm even through Stan's hoodie and the dark haired boy could not even begin to break away as Kenny lifted one hand and knocked. 

Tweek was the one to answer, the skinny Beta smiling at the pair of them even as a shudder wracked his small form. He held the door open as Kenny all but corralled Stan through and into the waiting heat of the living room beyond. 

Stan stood frozen, his lips clamped tightly shut as Tweek shut the door behind him with a bang and bumped into him with a small smile. The skinny blonde turned and made his way back to the chair nearest the roaring fire. Craig was sitting there, his face twisted into a scowl as he leaned forward, barely acknowledging Tweek when the blonde wedged in beside him as his fingers flew over the buttons of the xbox controller and his eyes never left the screen. 

Something gurgled a scream through the television, over the music that was playing softly in the background on the wireless and Stan jumped when Butters let loose a satisfied yowl and launched his controller into the couch cushions he was sitting on. He lifted his arms high as Craig rolled his eyes heavenward, sinking back into his chair with a sigh. 

"In your face, Tucker!" 

"Was there not a rule about sore winners, Butters?"

Kenny had left his side, Stan realised with a start, watching as the blonde sauntered across the living room to push the shorter, crowing blonde face first into the couch cushion and snapping his teeth when Butters growled something back at him. 

"Ah leave him alone, Craig was shit-talkin'."

Stan watched as Kyle suddenly folded himself out of the only chair with its back to the door, one large hand ruffling his wild, red curls as he stretched. 

The teenager had sprouted to a ridiculous extent. Once smaller than any of the rest of them, Kyle had shot up to overtake Kenny's lanky form in no time and was fast on his way towards beating Craig as tallest guy in the school. His limbs were lean, arms bare and slender in the t-shirt he wore but not skinny by any means. Stan watched him turn with wide eyes, his hands clutching the inside of his hoodie as Kyle flashed a fanged smile in Kenny's direction before his green eyes locked on Stan and he froze. 

"Stan?"

Christ, was it weird that he wanted Kyle to say his name again? 

"Umm..."

"Stan! You made it!"

Stan had barely a second to brace himself before Butters was up and wrapping an arm around his neck, the blonde boy pulling him in for a hug that all but squeezed the life out of him. He was dragged further inside despite a large portion of himself that was screaming to just leave, just leave, just leave. 

Butters pushed him backwards into the couch with a smile, wedging Stan in between himself and Kenny as though he had every right to be there. Kenny's arm stretched across the back of the furniture behind him, the blonde's legs splayed enough that Stan had to snap his own knees together or risk leaning against him. 

He was rigid and he knew it, eyes darting out to watch as Kyle ran a hand through his hair again before making a beeline for the other room. 

Ah, Kyle wasn't leaving just because he had shown up was he? Stan bit into his bottom lip, ripping at the dry skin as Butters shoved the xbox controller into Kenny's hands and Craig tossed the second one to Tweek. 

"Relax, Marsh, you may not have a scent but your anxiety sure as hell does." 

"Craig!" Butters growled at the tall Alpha, scowling when the lanky teen's lips curved in a bare smile and he tipped his head back with a sigh. 

"You all fuckin' tiptoe around it. Stan's a scentless wonder, get the fuck over it already." 

Kenny's own lip curled as if he might snarl a response but Stan's snort of laughter drew him up short. The smaller boy sighed, tearing off his hat and stuffing it into his hoodie pocket with a grin. "Cheers, Craig." 

"Anytime, freakazoid." 

The barbs fell as they were intended, harmless little remarks meant in jest, and such a welcome fucking relief from all the whispers and gossip and pitiful glances that Stan felt his shoulders drop for the first time all day. 

Tweek kicked him in the side all the same, the tiny Beta baring his itty bitty fangs in a mock scowl when Craig cast him an aggrieved look and Stan chuckled again as Kenny relaxed beside him. Butters bounced his leg on his other side, nipping on the edge of his thumb nail as he glanced between the game starting out on the TV and Stan. 

"You want a soda, Stan? A coke? Or, Craig has some weird brand of root beer that's sorta okay." 

"Rude." 

"Stan doesn't like soda when it's cold." 

Stan started as a mug was suddenly being pushed into his hands, warming his freezing fingers and sweet with the smell of honey and milk. He inhaled before he had even grasped that it was Kyle that had handed it to him, and he shot a look up at the redhead. 

Kyle's head was tilted in something like curiosity, his own hand wrapped around a cup of tea as he settled back into his chair. With a sudden, blinding smile, green eyes brightened and Kyle raised his mug in a silent salute. Stan felt his fingers clench around the cup of tea, dropping his face fast to hide whatever fucked up emotion he knew must be streaking   
across his face. 

###

They played the same, strange scream-ridden game for more than a solid hour, Butters all but choking on the odd yelp as something popped out of the screen and sent him careening into Stan. 

It was a stupid game, full of jump scares the dark haired boy could see coming from a mile away. The premise was bizarre and the cut-scenes were filled with Kenny talking bollocks over the narration and Tweek's angry little growls as he tried to listen to the dumb plotline. 

Kyle made a face each time the controller was passed to him, one eyebrow arching in a trademark look that screamed the word 'seriously?', far louder than the red haired Alpha ever could. It was a look that he had been well known for in his youth, his tolerance for all things stupid had never been high, and were often given such a stink-eye that Stan was surprised they didn't wither under the stare. 

"This game sucks." 

"Shut up Craig."

Kenny snickered. "Yeah, shut up, Craig." 

The lanky Alpha offered Kenny his middle finger even as he lifted his can of soda to his lips, and Stan felt a smile tilt the corners of his own mouth. He could not have agreed more, the game was stupid. The plot was stupid, the scares were stupid. 

And it was the best thing he had done in weeks. 

He was wedged between two friends he had barely said two words to in the past week alone in school, with his once upon a time best friend taking his empty mug from him with a soft, strange, little smile, and two guys that he had been sure hated him letting him lounge in their den. 

In their group. 

Stan was so in his element that he all but jumped out of his skin when his phone suddenly started ringing in his hoodie pocket, his mother's standard ringtone striking through his heart with such abruptness that he was on his feet and racing towards the kitchen before the rest of the group could even call his name. 

"Mom?"

The phone was cold against his ear, his mother's voice shouting out before he had even fully pushed the answer button. 

"Stan! Stan! Oh my God, Stanley, where are you?" 

Where...? Stan frowned. "I'm..."

"Stanley, do you have any idea what time it is? Or how worried I was? You said that you would be back by six, that the pet shop always closes early on a Saturday!"

Stan winced, bringing his phone down to glance at the neon 7.48 pm that glared up at him from the home screen. "No, I, I'm sorry, Mom... I did finish work, yes, I just didn't realise the time. I've been, ah... I've been with the guys..."

His mother cut off with something of a squeak, her voice small and starting with a tiny sigh when she began to speak again. "You wouldn't tell me these things, Stanley? I worry so much for you, sweetheart... The house gets so lonesome when you're away..." 

Stan felt his fingers clench on the front of his hoodie, his eyes wide as a sudden, sharp sob dropped across the line. 

"Mom?"

His mother took a breath, sniffling her nose as she spoke softly. "I... I made dinner, Stanley... Just for you and me... Please don't make me have to throw it out..."

Stan's heart clenched and he dropped his head forward, a sad sound leaving him. "No, no don't do that... I'd never leave you eat alone, Mom. I'll be home in just a little bit, alright? I promise, I'm on my way!" 

The line was cut off before his mother said her goodbye, Stan blinking down once at the phone in his hand before stuffing it back into his pocket. He rubbed a cold palm across his face slowly, trying to still the breaths that threatened to spill form him. He sighed, and glanced up. 

Kyle had been watching him. 

The redhead was leaning against the door-jam of the kitchen pantry, his arms crossed and a frown between his dark brows as those green eyes stared down at him. Stan almost felt frozen beneath them, his hands clenching on the material of his pants as he tried, and failed, to push away the blush that was slowly creeping across his cheeks. 

"I... Uh... My, ah, my mom..."

Kyle's eyes narrowed, his gaze something intense and far too real for a solid moment, before he was smiling down at Stan again; as though he hadn't been inspecting him just a moment before. 

"Sure thing, Stan, you need a lift home?"

The voice was a friendly one, even as deep as it rolled out of Kyle's chest and Stan felt his racing heart-beat calm just a fraction. He shook his head, his lips pursing as he took a step back. 

He didn't want to leave... 

"No, I... I have my truck..." 

Kyle was nodding again, pacing forward until Stan stumbled back to put some space between them. The dark haired teen flushed, his mouth opening, before he shut it again with a scowl, and took off back towards the sitting room. 

"I gotta go! Sorry!" 

Stan ignored Butters' protests, barely glancing at the group long enough to see that Tweek had grabbed the younger blonde by the wrist and was shaking his head. Kenny's 'boo's' were light-hearted and thrown at him with a smile that almost made Stan smile back. 

He reached for the front-door handle, a shiver racing down his spine as he opened it, and turned to flee outside, his last sight one of Kyle watching him from the kitchen doorway, the redhead's brow furrowed in a scowl and his arms crossed tight across his chest. 

Stan shut the door behind him with a grimace. 

Had Kyle been pissed at him?


	3. Something to Cuddle

The house was dark when Stan pulled his truck into the drive. 

Not that it wasn't usually dark when he arrived home most evenings, but something about the early winter nights made it seem all the more cold, one window near the front room the only thing to cast light out onto the field. His mother had more than likely switched on the television, and wandered away from it. It was a habit he was familiar with. It was as if Sharon both lived for and abhorred the silence; so intent to be lost in her own thoughts and, at the same time, always running from them. 

Stan's fingers loosened on the wheel, a sigh heaving out of him as he slid from the driver's seat and slammed the door shut behind him. The gravel crunched beneath his boots, and he was sure he was tracking marks across the wooden porch that he would have to clean tomorrow, but for the moment he couldn't bring himself to care. 

He flipped the porch light and left it aglow; a sombre yellow dot for his father to find his way indoors later, if the man wasn't already passed out in his bed. 

"Mom?"

The television noise met him first, music flowing and someone laughing high-pitched and gratingly through the hallway as Stan draped his coat across one of the hangers. He ran a hand through his hair as he made his way into the kitchen, leaning in to flick on the light and sighing at the sight of his mother sitting by herself in the dark. 

"Mom?"

Sharon blinked, wide eyes red-rimmed and startled for a moment, before she spotted him and slid her customary glass of orange juice towards him across the solid oak table-top. 

Christ, Stan hated orange juice. he had never been the biggest fan of oranges in general. He ignored it for the moment, glancing at the mounting pile of ware in the sink and sighing. Another job for the morning. "Have you eaten, Mom? Is Dad home?" 

Sharon frowned at him, her hands trembling where she held them on the table for a split moment before she pushed the glass of juice towards him again. 

"You need to drink, Stanley. You'll get a cold." 

He always got a cold anyway. 

Stan grabbed it and swamped the contents, his lips twisting in a grimace at the bitter aftertaste. He added the glass with a tad more gentleness to the dirty dishes pile. "Thanks, Mom." 

Sharon's eyes began to well, her fingers tapping a non-sensical beat against the wood. "It's my job to take care of you, Stanley. I have to take care of you."

Stan huffed something of a lopsided smile, his brow furrowing as he saw two plates of toast lined up beside the toaster, stone cold and thick with butter. Well, he guessed, that had more than likely been the dinner she had been so concerned with throwing out. 

Stan shook his head, he would never be able to comprehend the things that set her off. 

"I can look out for myself too, y'know, Mom. I would have gotten something to eat with the guys, I guess."

Sharon's face twisted, her hands clenching, before she banged one down on the table with enough force to make Stan jump where he stood. 

"No!" she howled, she was staring at the wood-top, her chest heaving, "No! You need to come home, you need to drink the juice so you don't get sick, I need to make sure you don't get sick, Stan!" 

Her blue eyes locked on his for the first time in weeks and Stan felt his body bow in on itself as she stood. She lifted a hand and he flinched, until he realised that she was petting his hair, her eyes glazed in a way that told him she had floated off again. 

A soft sob escaped her, her fingers frigid from sitting too long without moving. 

"I have to make sure you don't get sick like Shelly. Shelly got so sick... So sick... 

Stan heaved a sigh as his mother turned, the woman's shoulders started to dip as she made her way out of the kitchen. His heart beat a tenuous rhythm in his chest and Stan felt his stomach twist. It had been a while since Sharon had brought up that particular delusion. 

From what Stan could piece together of his mother's ramblings over the years; the woman was firm in her belief that her eldest child had not chosen to walk away from the family. In Sharon's mind, Shelly had grown ill and vanished; and it was that strange sort of thinking that had led to the nightly glasses of orange juice. 

His mother needed help, Stan knew that. He knew it for a fact in the same way he knew that his father was an alcoholic. These were truths that he could do little about, when the grown ups did not want to do anything about it themselves. Still, his hands shook as he forced one of the slices of cold toast into his mouth. 

Though they were truths that he was well aware of, that didn't mean they didn't scare the shit out of him whenever one of his parents had an outburst. 

His fingers itched to lift his phone, to scroll through his contacts and hit the call button for... 

Anyone really... 

Stan let the crust fall back to the plate, pushing it to one side to deal with the mess in the morning. 

He crept his way past the spare bedroom that had become his mother's, silent as he could be as he tip-toe'd past his father's room just in case the man was in there; until he shut his bedroom door behind him with a broken little sob. 

What was the point... He didn't need sympathy and weird looks from the other guys... He already got his fill of that. 

###

Stan groaned as he banged his locker shut before lunch on Monday, his shoulder creaking. 

He had overdone it cleaning the mud stains off the porch in the cold, but there was no way of getting the stupid locker shut without putting a bit of force behind it. With a scowl, he dug his fingers into the sore muscle, heaving his backpack more fully on as he turned to make his way towards the library. 

"Whereya goin' Stan?" 

The shorter boy yelped as a familiar someone threw a hand around his shoulders, the blonde having appeared from nowhere in the near deserted hallway. 

"Ah, uh... Hi, Butters." 

The Omega was peering down at him with a smile that could charge the sun. His white polo was soft against the back of Stan's neck as he pulled the dark haired boy back around in the direction of the lunchroom. Stan groaned. 

"But it's so noisy..."

"That it is, Stan!" Butters nodded happily beside him, and Stan could do little but follow along. He grimaced as the double doors swung open and the noise level sky-rocketed, cringing into Butter's side as the blonde steered him towards a bench near the front of the room. 

"You left in such a hurry Saturday, we didn't even get a chance to talk proper! Not to mention you ignorin' my text Sunday evening. Harsh, Stan, harsh." 

Stan felt his cheeks flush, the heat of the room pressing in on him just as physically as the noise seemed to do. There was a chill that had followed him since yesterday morning that Stan knew had all the indications of a stubborn cold, and the lunchroom was ridiculously hot. 

"Sorry, Butters... I had to help out, ah, Dad, in the field, y'know? After Christmas tends to be a busy time for him." 

Stan was pushed onto a bench beside a chuckling Kenny as Butters hummed at the apology. The blonde scooted in beside him, a tray of food already in front of him, which meant that Butters had most definitely come looking for him. 

It was... nice. 

"Alright," Duel eyes glared down at him, before a finger poked into his chest and Stan smiled. "I forgive ya, but you send me a text back in future, mister, I am not okay with being ignored." 

Kenny snorted, twisting on the bench to look at them and swallowing around a mouthful of pasta that very nearly went down the wrong way. "Christ, Butters, you ignore half the fuckin' school!" The taller blonde laughed, grinning down at Stan before his brow furrowed and he sniffed the air. 

Butters snorted. "I ignore the half that wants to get into my goddamn pants, Kenny, the half that don't have two damn brain cells to rub together." The blonde ran his fingers through his fringe curls, his other hand lifting a bowl of jelly off his tray and plonking it in front of Stan without so much as a look. "Besides," the smaller blonde preened suddenly, "I'll always answer Stan, he's my buddy." 

Kenny clutched his chest as though wounded by Butter's words as Craig and Tweek slipped onto the bench on the opposite side. Tweek was huffing about something, though from his mile-a-minute way of speaking, Stan had not a hope of figuring out what that might be. The skinny Beta's arms were twisting around to showcase his point, nearly knocking the two trays Craig was trying to place in front of them and earning a withering glance from the dark haired Alpha. 

Still, the teen hummed along, nodding when he should have been nodding and tutting when he needed to tut and Tweek settled enough to finally take a seat, budging over when Kyle suddenly plonked in alongside him. 

"Hi Stan." 

The redhead grinned at him and Stan felt his cheeks flush, his own lips soft on a smile. That was, until Craig leaned forward into his space and took a sniff of him. 

"You sick, Marsh?"

Stan froze, his eyes wide as the Alpha peered down at him, but he was saved having to respond as Butters growled and pushed the boy back by his face. 

"Rude, Craig! It's rude to freakin' sniff people!"

Kenny was howling, the blonde slapping his hand on the counter as Butters bared his teeth and a mortified Tweek pulled Craig back by his shirt. The lanky Alpha barely shrugged a shoulder, his dark eyes trailing to his food. 

"He smells sick, I asked a question."

Kyle met Stan's eyes, that intense stare stealing his breath for all of a second before the redhead was rolling his eyes. "Stan always gets colds, Craig. He's gotten them for years. Christ, go scent Tweek if you need to stick your nose in someone." 

Tweek let out a sound that was more of a squawk, drawing a bark of laughter from Kenny and a snort from Butters. Kyle grinned, his hand reaching out to take the orange jelly pot from in front of Stan and drop a piece of apple pie down instead.

Stan felt a genuine smile lift his lips as he reached for it. 

###

What had changed in the last week that had encouraged the guys to try and include him more, Stan did not know; but he did appreciate it.

Mostly, he had put it down to Butters. The boy was a force to be reckoned with the majority of the time and held a great deal more sway than most thought. He had latched to Stan in a way he had not done since they were children, eager to chat and listen about anything and everything; though their conversations swayed seldom from schoolwork and college courses. 

Stan's top pick had always been South Park College. It was far enough away that he would get away with only weekend or holiday trips to the farm and close enough still that he could keep his job in the pet shop that was quickly becoming his favourite place. Not to mention, the college had a course in veterinary nursing that Stan was sure was where his future was headed. Besotted as he may have been with the critters that took up his time in the shop, he wanted to do more to help. The statement had been one that drew a coo of a sound from Tweek and Butters when he had said it last, the pair patting his back as if he was doing something noble. 

Stan snorted a laugh, thinking of the cat puke he had had to clear up just that morning. Incredibly noble work. As it was, he was perched on the edge of the counter-top during his Saturday shift and he was in the middle of a very intense discussion with Peter as he cleaned the parrot's feedbox. 

"No, Peter, I don't think you are starving, buddy, I think you're a fat little fellow, if I'm being honest."

The beautiful bird seemed scandalised, his beak parting and his head swiveling to take in Stan with one big black eye. Peter was a new addition, one Mrs. Benson had gotten in shortly before she took her winter holidays. The bird was a rescue, and not the first that the woman had taken in and adopted back out to loving homes. Beautiful as he was though, he was a small bit of a screamer.

"They're starving Peter! They're starving Peter!" 

Stan cooed back at Peter as he popped the small bowl full of seed back into the large cage, giving the bird a quick rub on his grey chest with the back of his finger. "Now, then, that wasn't so long a wait, was it?" 

"Starving! Starving, Peter!" Peter whistled back at him, his tail flicking as he hopped from pedestal to pitter patter off towards the bowl of food.

Stan giggled down at him as he heard the bell above the door chime, lifting his hand in greeting. "Welcome to Benson's Pets, how can I help you?"

"Hi Stan!"

Stan glanced up as he slid off the countertop, his smile trembling a bit as Wendy rounded the front corner and waved at him. To say the girl had grown up pretty would be doing her an injustice. 

Wendy was a Beta with the presence of an Alpha, and she knew it. Her long black hair shone beneath the store lights, perfectly curled to her round hips and itty bitty waist. She was beautiful, her big brown eyes peering down at him, and most importantly; she was still a sweetheart. 

Stan had to take a step back to look up at her, his cheeks flushing as she all but towered over him with her big, white smile. 

"Hey Wendy, uh... How, am, how can I help?"

"I didn't know you worked here!" Wendy was turning and Stan blinked as he realised that there were several girls behind her, all spreading out fast to coo and awe into various cages and cabinets. Stan watched Bebe squeal as she came face to face with a snow white rabbit, the blonde girl all but bouncing as she dragged Red over by the back of the scowling girl's coat. 

"Yeah, ah, for a while now!" Stan blinked back up at Wendy, watching as she tilted her head to examine Peter, her hands on her hips. "I look after it after school and on Saturdays; and Mrs. Benson's granddaughter comes in to check up on things when we're closed or to do a round of night-feeds. I think she runs a farm just out of..."

"Hey! We came to get a pet, dude, you can keep the free story." Bebe cut him off with a snicker, flipping her blonde hair over one shoulder and peering down at him. Though she was smaller than Wendy, most of his class had well surpassed him in height and Stan glanced up at her only briefly before nodding. 

"Ah, sure thing, Bebe, what were you thinkin' of gettin'?"

The blonde hummed, lifting one gloved finger to press against her plush, pink lips. She pointed to the snow white rabbit. "This one looks pretty enough, Mama said I can have whatever goes with the living room for my birthday, and it'll need to be house-trained." 

Stan watched the little thing wedge itself into a corner of the cage, his lips twisting. 

"Lucy is actually a fairly special case, to be honest, Bebe. She's only young and she can have the odd accident if she's stressed or scared..."

"Can't you train that out of her, isn't that part of your job?" Bebe was rolling her eyes, looking down at him with one eyebrow arched. Stan huffed. 

"Well, yes, but it takes time and if you don't put in the effort at home, then she's gonna fall back to her old ways. She's a rabbit, not a stuffed toy." 

Bebe scowled as Red snorted beside her, lifting her finger to prod it into Stan's space and forcing the boy back a step. "You think I'm a simpleton, Stan Marsh?" she growled, flashing a small fang that had Stan's eyes snapping downward. 

"No... No, I... Don't, Bebe... It's just, she's special... She's only a baby still and she's... Partly deaf..."

Bebe withdrew with a sour glance in the rabbit's direction. "Seriously? Shouldn't ye have that on a sign, for Christ's sake? Who's gonna take in a deaf rabbit?"

Stan bit his lip on a retort, though he had little time to respond, as Wendy all but pushed Bebe out of his space with a smile.

"My dog was deaf when we adopted him and he lived a long, happy, healthy life, not to mention that he was the best boy on the planet." Wendy purred as she bent to peer in at the   
small, shaking rabbit. "She'll find a home..." The dark haired Beta stood with a grin in her friend's direction. "But it's not with you, Bebe. Your Mom would lose her goddamn mind if she found little poop pellets all over her white, Persian rug."

Bebe groaned, glancing around the shop with a pout that would put toddlers to shame. "But I wanted something small and fluffy to cuddle." 

"You could cuddle Stan." Red cackled, reaching out to ruffle his hair and earning herself a scowl from the smaller boy. Stan took a step away from them, his shoulders tense as another two girls he didn't know the names of grinned down at him. 

"I don't think a pet is what you're lookin' for, Bebe." 

Wendy flashed him a grin, her elbow nudging into Bebe's side as the blonde scowled down at the little, white rabbit. "He's right, you know. You don't want a pet to look after, Bebe, you need a boyfriend. You'd be better off having another roll around with Kevin or Kyle." 

The girl's hysterical giggles were loud, and they fell hard in the little pet shop as Bebe flushed and preened under the girl's shrill cat-calls and sudden encouragement. 

Stan watched Wendy wave him goodbye as she hurried them out before the birds could start shrieking back, his eyes frozen to the front as he braced himself back against the counter with a white-knuckled grip on the edge. 

Another roll around with Kevin... 

Or Kyle... 

Stan felt his chest heave, his vision blotting for a split second before he managed to take in a breath. 

A roll around with Kyle.

As in...?

Sex?

His grip tightened, an incredulous laugh bursting out of him that he quickly slapped a hand out to cover. A sob soon followed it and Stan glanced down at his phone with a glare.   
He had well gone over the usual time they closed on a Saturday and Stan was kicking himself for staying with the animals as long as he had. 

If he had closed as usual, he could have missed such a stupid, horrible, useless interaction. 

Why the fuck had he stayed late?

Stan locked away the float from the till in a daze, his hands shaking as he checked to make sure each animal had enough food and water for the night. His actions were on auto-pilot, his mind a sudden chaotic mess. 

Kyle had had sex... With Bebe. 

Stan's face twisted as he set the alarm and keyed the door shut, his jacket doing little to keep out the chill that wracked his frame as he wrenched open the door of his truck. 

Would his friend ever have told him such a thing? 

Had he told the others?

Why the fuck had he gone and had sex with a bitch like Bebe?

Stan slammed the heel of his hand down on the wheel as he drove off, a pitiful sob leaving his throat that he had no intention of holding back. 

It hurt. 

It hurt that Kyle could do something so incredibly life-changing and not at least tell Stan after the fact. It hurt that Kyle had more than likely told the other guys just as Bebe had told all of her friends. It hurt that Kyle was so obviously ahead of him in maturity and life and Stan was left behind like some freak of a man-child. 

It hurt that he fucking knew why Kyle didn't tell him, because he was some freak of nature that had never matured. 

It hurt that it was Bebe, who Stan hated. 

It hurt that it was Kyle, who Stan fucking adored. 

The drive to the farm was one Stan would never forget and one he barely remembered, his hurt turning fast to anger and turning even faster to loneliness. 

He was broken. 

His body was broken. 

Not an Alpha or an Omega or a Beta... Scentless and unable to scent and so far behind that he had not realised his classmates were fucking... Fucking!

The kitchen was blessedly empty when he made his way through, his body shaking as much from his emotions as it was from the cold. God, he hated this time of year. There was never anything he could do to warm himself when the chill set in. 

Stan was pulling noodles down from the cabinet when he spotted the glass of orange juice on the table, his mother's phone beside it as though she had gone for just a second.   
He cast a quick look around, sure she would be sulking in some dark corner; before he caught the glass and upended it into the sink with a scowl. 

He already had a blasted cold, one missed glass of juice was not going to do him any harm now.


	4. Part of the Pack

Stan did the only thing he could think to do in the week that followed the news. 

He hid. 

He sat right beneath the teacher's nose for each class he shared with any of the guys, raising his hand for every question so that no one could drag him into a conversation. He spent his lunch in his truck, always parked the furthest away in the parking lot to ensure no one had to listen to the old rust bucket whine its way to a start in the evenings. He worked as long as he could in the pet shop each evening to ensure he missed any calls Butters, or surprisingly Tweek, had sent him; a text message of apology for his busy work schedule the only response they ever got. 

He had been doing incredibly well, if he did say so himself; getting stealthier and stealthier with each rare evening he went home and emptied the dreaded glass of orange juice into the sink before his mother came back into the kitchen. It was Friday evening before he was inevitably cornered, Craig's impassive form staring down at him from the driver's side of his truck as he scowled up at the Alpha. 

The boy was stoic, not so much as an eyebrow twitch in the face of Stan's frown. 

"Move, please, I gotta get to work." 

Craig crossed his arms. "You don't work on Fridays." 

Well how the fuck did Craig Tucker know when he did or did not work? 

Stan scoffed, crossing his own arms. "So what, you're just gonna stop me getting in my own goddamn truck?"

Craig shrugged one lean shoulder, his satchel shifting with the movement and his jacket bunching up on one side. "Art gets out early. I was given an instruction to stop you hiding away like a little mouse, Marsh."

Stan growled, the sound a pale imitation of an actual growl but filled with his frustration nonetheless. 

He did not want to do this today. He was cold, his jacket and hat were doing nothing to stop the chattering of his teeth and his arms felt brittle enough to snap where he wrapped them around his middle. Whatever cold he had had was fast morphing into some form of flu and Stan just wanted to crawl into his bed and hide. He hunched his shoulders, digging his fingers into the soft black material as he tried to fend off the headache that was starting to set in behind his eyes. 

"Please move, Craig..."

The Alpha's face softened, but he shook his head all the same. 

"You look like shit, Marsh." 

Stan snorted, but the comment struck home with a pang. He did look like shit. His mother's mood swings were fast bringing him to the end of his patient rope; one moment angry at the woman and the next, guilty and weeping as she fell into a small, pathetic hollow of the person he had so admired. Randy had never been so noisy coming home from his nightly outings, going so far the night before as to tear down one of the cabinet doors and the ceramic plates inside. It was a mess that Stan had been far too weary to deal with that morning. He knew his skin was too pale, his face tired and his eyes dark from sleepless nights, but it was no fucking concern of Craig's or any of the rest of them. 

"Oh, good, you caught him!" 

Butters raced up beside the pair, his scarf half-hanging off and his cheeks pink from having run halfway across the lot. He was huffing as he smiled down at Stan, and Stan felt his scowl deepen. 

"Tell him to let me go home, Butters." 

The blonde's brow lifted, his arm wrapping around Stan's shoulder to offer a modicum of warmth to the shivering boy. "Well sure you can go home, Stan!" The blonde beamed as Kenny waltzed in beside him, his own and Butters' backpack thrown over his shoulder. 

"We'll come with you!" 

Stan froze, his eyes wide as Butters rooted in Stan's jacket pocket for his car key, and tossed it to Craig. 

"You, you can't!"

Tweek had shuffled up beside the group, squeaking at Stan's sudden outburst. Stan barely offered him a glance as he caught sight of Kyle strolling towards them, and his face twisted. 

"You can't come to my house." 

Butters frowned, pulling away to look down at him. "Well, why not, Stan?" 

"Yeah, why not?" Kyle's voice was soft, his lips tilting in a smile, "I feel like it's been years since I last had a chat with your Mom, what's the harm?"

Stan glared up at the redhead, his panic like fingers tight around his hearts as he clenched his fists. "You can't come fucking over!" 

He glared at each of them, pushing Butters away from him further and taking a step back.

"It's been ages since any of you were my friends! What the fuck makes this last little while so different, huh?"

"Stan!" Kenny scowled, pulling his hood back to glare down at the smaller boy. "We've always been your friends! You keep fuckin' pullin' away!"

Stan snorted, his eyes rolling before he snarled back at Kenny. "Oh sure, 'cause I just fuckin' love bein' all by my fuckin' self everyday, right? Ye don't give a shit about me, so stop acting like ye do!" 

Stan's words were bitter, his body wracking with what the hell he thought he was doing. Christ, he wanted his friends back... Of course he wanted his friends back... 

But he couldn't let them come to his house...

He couldn't...

He whirled on Kyle as the redhead opened his mouth. "You don't get to say anything, Kyle! You're not my friend! Why don't you just go and fuck another cunt like Bebe?"

He had moved forward to slam his hands into Kyle's chest by the end of his shout. Stan saw Kyle's eyes widen, shock and hurt flashing there clear as day, before those green eyes narrowed and Kyle let loose a feral snarl that had Butters clapping his hands over his ears. 

The noise shook Stan to his core, and before he could register his own reaction, there was pain in his knees. 

Stan had dropped to the tarmac ground so hard that he was sure he had done something to one of his kneecaps, the pain shooting up his thigh white hot; but it was nothing on the part of his mind that had bared his throat and was screaming at him to keep still. 

His anger had gone, lost entirely to fear as he kept his eyes squeezed shut, his entire body trembling as he held his neck at such an angle, he was sure he would never be able to straighten it again. Tension wound around his muscles like fishing wire, invisible and tight and holding everything so taut, one wrong move could break him. It took a moment to register the silence past the blood that was rushing in his ears, his own broken whimpers the only sound that filtered through the near deserted part of the carpark. 

"Oh Stan..."

Stan went rigid as arms suddenly wrapped around him from behind, a yelp leaving him that was shushed as he was pulled against a warm body. 

"Jesus Christ."

"I didn't... I didn't know he would react like... Hey, Stan?"

Kyle's voice was a whisper, scorching fingers touching his neck gently in a move that had him tensing up again. 

"Shh, shh, Stan, you're alright... It's okay... I'm not mad at you, c'mon, buddy."

The gentle touch clamped down, fingers clenching on the spot between his neck and shoulder until he all but slumped against the person behind him. Kenny's hum was familiar, vibrating through his back and easing the tension that held his body captive. 

Stan whined, the sound pitiful and small and drawing a similar whine from somewhere to the side that Craig hushed with a stern voice. 

"Jesus, Stan..." 

"We need to get him inside somewhere, he's freezing and I'm pretty sure he hurt himself on the way down..." Butters voice was close, the Omega's hand brushing through his hair in a move that sent him closer towards the fuzzy waves that hovered on the edge of his mind. 

Stan sank into them fast, his breath a panicked, agitated thing against his lips that drew a hiss from Kyle. 

"Somewhere near, he's dropping." 

Stan felt himself being shifted, someone's arms around him as he was hoisted up into a bridal position. 

It would have been funny... Almost... Maybe... 

God, he was tired... 

"My place it is." Kenny's voice sounded by his ear as he felt his body go lax, his vision clouding over. 

###

Stan woke to a cat purring on his chest. 

His thoughts were distorted, confused, though he was sure the last place he had been had been in the school parking lot with the guys around him... Which made it just a bit disconcerting that he was now lying on a couch. 

He had been in Kenny's apartment a scant handful of times, but enough to recognize the flat screen sitting on the black glass coffee table and the buttercup yellow walls behind it. 

The cat, however, the cat was new. 

His eyes were closed, though his purr let Stan know that the little bugger was awake and leaching off his body heat. The thing was small, on the skinny side and with dark grey fur that looked like it had had a wash recently, some patches drying still. 

Stan felt his head spin and closed his eyes with a small sigh, dropping it back down to rest on the pillow beneath it. The couch was old but so comfortable, soft and squashed beneath him and some merciful person had thrown a blanket over him to stave off the chill that was still present. The cat shifted on his chest and Stan reached a finger out to rub its cheek, his lips quirking up when the needy little thing burrowed closer to his hand and let loose a soft chirrup. 

There were voices behind him, he almost cringed back when he realised. Hidden as he was beneath the high back of the couch, the guys must not have noticed that he was awake yet where they sat around Kenny's second-hand dining table. 

"I didn't even realise he could drop... Without a scent..." Tweek, a whisper of a sound, followed by a hum of agreement.

"He should probably stay here for the night, anyway... Shouldn't be driving..."

Kenny's voice was soft, a tapping on wood sound letting know that the Alpha was probably agitated and was drumming his nails across the tabletop. 

Butters hummed, "I agree. I don't like the thoughts of him drivin' this late, least of all after a drop like that."

There was a groan, Kyle. Stan felt his cheeks heat. 

Why the fuck had he fucking had such a stupid fucking reaction? And what the fuck was a drop? As in the one he had dropped to his knees? Stan felt his eyes roll at his own mortification, the gentle throb in his left knee letting him know that it had not been some horrible dream. 

"I feel like a jerk, I didn't mean to make him hit the ground like that... I've never seen him do that... Fuck sake..."

"Relax, Broflovski." Craig's voice was weary, the taller Alpha grunting as he shifted in his seat. "I don't think any of us were expectin' Marsh to drop down on his knees like an Omega in Heat." 

"Jesus, Craig." 

Tweek hissed, the sound of a slap giving Stan a momentary sense of satisfaction before he lifted a hand to cover his eyes. 

Is that what they were comparing it to? 

Jesus Christ.

Craig was stifling a laugh, Kyle's growl low and soft. "Fuck sake, Tucker, pick your words better. I don't know what reaction that was, but safe to say, it wasn't a fuckin' good one."   
The redhead sighed, the sound of a chair creaking as he moved. "We don't know how Stan's biology works, there's so few fuckin' cases on the Unpresented, and even fewer studies done. Trying to learn about him when I realised what was happening to him had to be the most stressful months of my life."

Kyle had tried to look up his condition? 

Stan glanced down at the purring cat, staring into the little thing's green eyes with a furrow on his brow. 

Kyle had given a shit?

"Yeah, well, clearly trying to bring him into our Pack they way we did, did little good," Butters voice broke off with a sniffle, the blonde huffing, before heaving a sigh. "He didn't even realise what we were tryna do, we don't even know if he actually wants to be a part of it. How're we gonna do this if he can't tell what we're doin', huh?" 

There was another sniffle and a soft sound from Tweek. "He just needs time... We've just got to learn what ways he reads people, is all." 

"And get him out of that fuckin' farmhouse. He's too far away." Kyle growled, the noise sending a shiver up Stan's spine that almost dislodged the cat. It glared at him as he shrugged back at it, just as confused. 

Their Pack? 

Is that what the groups forming in South Park High were? 

He had heard of Packs, of groups of people bonding together and forming a sort of friendly circle, a family circle in some cases. There weren't a whole pile of adult packs in South Park, but there were enough that he knew about them; even if he did not understand them. From what he had learned, Packs formed young and sometimes stayed together the rest of their lives, a close-knit group of friends that helped each other out and depended on one another. How it differed from an ordinary group of friends, Stan didn't know. 

But... 

If this was a Pack, and his friends had formed one, then he had absolutely no business trying to dig his way into it. 

Packs were for Betas, for Omegas and Alphas, couples and close, close friends. Packs were something he understood little about, simply because he couldn't. 

In a world where scent and intuition often dictated how people interacted, how they felt and how they responded to those around them... Well, then someone like Stan, with no scent and no means of scenting, could only hope to scrape by. 

The cat meowed at him, stretching out an arm to rest its paw against his chin. He bopped the feline's nose gently with his finger, his body lifting with a sigh. 

"I can't be part of a Pack." 

Butters cut off with a squeak, the sound of his chair creaking as the blonde rounded the corner of the couch, his face pale. Stan felt his lips twist, he really hated upsetting Butters. 

"Stan! How're you feeling? Here, let me help!" 

Stan watched the cat hop down as Butters leaned in to help shift him into an upright position, someone stuffing a pillow in behind him to wedge him up. Stan flushed as he glanced up to find Craig arching a brow down at him, before the Alpha took a seat in the chair to left, Tweek smiling down at him from the armrest. 

Kenny was making Butters stop fussing, the lanky blonde stretched across the back of the couch and patting away the Omegas hands with a grin. 

And Kyle was kneeling in front of him. 

Stan felt his eyes widen as the redhead bent down, his face drawn in remorse and his curls in disarray from running his hands through them far too many times. 

"Stan... I'm so sorry..."

Stan grimaced, glancing down when the cat jumped up on his lap again and settled into a little ball of fur. 

"Don't be, Kyle... I'm gonna be honest, I dunno what the fuck happened, but it was probably something I did." 

Kyle shook his head, his green eyes flashing as he pressed his lips into a hard line. 

"All you did was react, Stan," Kenny piped up, reaching over to flick Kyle's forehead with a grin. "Kyle loses his temper on the best of days, he's such a freakin' hothead."

Stan snorted, something like humour flickering despite it all. Christ, it hadn't been Kyle's fault that Stan had all but shouted his business in the middle of the school lot. 

He huffed a laugh and lifted a hand to rub his cheek. He had called Bebe a cunt. 

"This is Tink by the way." Butters' voice was warm, his fingers reaching out to tuck under the cat's chin and scratch. 

"Like Tinkerbell? Oh... I thought he was a boy..." 

"He is." Kenny's laugh was delighted, as he swooped forward and grabbed the small cat around the middle, lifting it in the air where it blinked down at him. "But he was goin' through rubbish and spittin' up a storm when I found him. The stupid fucker was after getting stuck in a wreath full of those stupid silver Christmas bells, so I reckon Tinkerbell suits him."

Stan looked at Tink, watching as the skinny cat purred his little heart out in Kenny's hands. The laugh that came from him was loud, he knew, and he slapped a hand over his   
mouth to cover it but it little to stop his shoulders from shaking. Kenny flashed him a smile, plonking Tink back down on his lap and putting a hand on Stan's back beside the one Kyle had placed there not a second ago. 

"And here I thought you'd forgotten how to do that." 

Stan squinted at Kyle, his smile aching his cheeks as he tried to still the snickers that spilled from him. "Forgot how to what?"

"Laugh, Marsh." 

Craig had his eyes closed, his head tipped back against the chair, a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. Tweek slapped his chest weakly where the blonde had sat himself on the Alpha's lap. Stan sighed, his head tipping forward into his palms as he glanced back at Kyle with a frown. 

"I still can't join your Pack." 

The redhead tilted his head, his eyes narrowed as Butters huffed from where he sat by Stan's feet, the blonde crossing his arms. 

"And just why can't you?"

Stan looked at him with wide eyes, his hands splaying out to showcase himself. 

"'Cause I'm not normal, Butters..." 

Kyle growled and Stan held up a hand to stop him, though it trembled for reasons other than the cold. 

"Kyle, I'm not. You guys are incredible for trying to make me a part of this, you really are. But I can't fit into your Pack... I can't fit into any Pack. I don't..."

Stan rubbed his face blearily, taking note for the first time that his hat was off. He felt his face drop as he stared at Tink. 

"I don't know how to read you... Any of you... I can't smell you, I can't understand what you try and tell me with certain looks or body language... I don't know what I'm doing... I'm not dragging that mess into any Pack. I don't even know how I fucking react to things... how to react, why I reacted... For Christ's sake Kyle, how would you have felt if I had pushed a little bit harder and you had attacked me?"

Kyle paled, his hand reaching out before he seemed to think better of it and let it fall back to his lap. "I'd never hurt you Stan... Never." 

Kenny reached out to pull Stan's ear sharply, earning a yelp from the dark haired boy. The blonde glared down at him. 

"What do you think we do, run around biting each others hind legs and sniffin' necks?" 

Butters snorted, his mouth opening on a reply, before Kenny shoved him face first into the blanket wrapped around Stan's legs. 

"Look, Stan, we're not sayin' this is gonna be an easy ride. Startin' the Pack at all wasn't an easy ride and there's a nasty fuckin' scar on my shoulder that'll attest to that." 

Craig tutted, frowning where he sat with his eyes closed. "I told you to yield, you chanced your fuckin' arm."

Kenny rolled his eyes, looking down at Stan with a grin. "Point is, we all fuck up. We're teenagers, Stan, there ain't none of us in this group, or the whole goddamn school, that has a fully functional Pack yet, but we're tryin'." The blonde Alpha squeezed his shoulder and Kyle nodded slowly, his hand lifting to pluck at Stan's sleeve. 

"We care about you, Stan... We miss what we had and... I miss you. We know it's gonna be a little bit harder, but you have just as much right to be in a Pack as anybody." 

Stan blinked, his heart sitting heavy in his chest. Weighted. Whether that was from the sudden responsibility he was feeling thrust upon him, or just the warm fuzzies that he was getting off this group... He wasn't sure... 

Probably the warm fuzzies... 

Stan was a sucker for genuine, heartfelt feeling.

"I..."

His ringtone cut through the air and had him all but sprinting up off the couch, Butters' sudden grip around his wrist the only thing keeping him down. 

"Shit!" Stan whirled around to look for it, spotting his hoodie hanging off the back of Kenny's door with no small amount of panic. That was his mother's ringtone. "What time is it?"

He spun to look out the window, but the curtains were pulled shut, the room lit with light from the kitchen and corner lamp. He felt his heart stammer in his chest and his knee gave a painful thud as he tried to pull his feet out from under the Omega. "Butters, dude, let me up! I have to answer her! She'll keep..."

The ringtone started up again as soon as it ended and Stan felt a hand push down on his shoulder, his eyes wide as he watched Kyle stand up slowly, and make his way towards Stan's jacket. 

Stan brought a hand to his mouth, clamping over the yell that threatened to spill out as Kyle pulled out his phone, his face stoic as he hit the answer button and the loudspeaker, holding the phone out. 

"Hello, Stan Marsh's phone?"

Kyle's voice was calm, charming and polite and deep. It was met with Sharon Marsh's near silent breathing, the woman obviously taken aback, before she cleared her throat and put on her best phone voice. 

"Hello, dear, would Stanley be with you there? It's his mother and I need to speak with him." 

Stan froze in his struggles, his brow furrowing as he stared up at Kyle and the phone. It was the calmest, most serene that he had heard his mother in... Years... 

Completely normal... 

"Well, hi there, Mrs. Marsh! Y'know I was just sayin' to Stan earlier how we've not had a chat for quite some time. You do remember me, don't you, it's Kyle Broflovski."

Kyle's voice was friendly, but his spine was rigid and, if there was one thing that Stan could read in a room despite his missing senses, it was tension. You could cut the atmosphere in Kenny's living room with a butter knife, it was so thick. 

Stan felt his breathing quicken, his eyes darting around the room as his mother gave some friendly, enthusiastic response to Kyle. 

Did... Did they know? 

No, they couldn't... He had hid it so well... 

Sharon's voice lanced through him and he felt his fingers clutch on Butters' arm. 

"Well, it's nice chattin' to you, sweetie, but if you could put Stanley on the phone now. He's late home, y'see, and I've been so worried about him! His dinner's just about gone stone cold."

Kyle leaned an arm against Kenny's shoulder, a short hum leaving him that sounded almost like a purr in the quiet room. "No can do, Mrs. Marsh! Sorry Stan forgot to let you know, but he's stayin' the night here with the guys and myself. I'll be sure to tell him you called though and that I let you know..."

"No!" 

Sharon's voice took on a pitch that made Stan turn cold, his hands shaking. 

"No, Kyle! Stanley needs to come home to take his medicine. He's a sick boy, dear, a very sick boy. You tell him to come home, Kyle, you hear me?"

The line was cut off with a swipe of Kyle's thumb, his face slack with shock as he held his thumb over the power button and tossed Stan's phone to Craig. 

"You sick, Stan?"

The question came from Kenny, the blonde frowning down at him as Stan watched Craig tuck his mobile into the front pocket of his jeans. 

"What?" He turned back with a breathless question, blinking up at Kenny. "What? No... No, I'm not sick, I don't... I don't take any medicine, she's just..."

"She doesn't make you take anything?" 

Kyle's face was dark, his eyes narrowed as he crossed his arms and Stan shook his head. 

"No! No, honest... She's just... She just likes to make sure I drink some orange juice everyday, y'know? To help fight off colds, I guess? She's..." 

Stan sighed, burying his hands in the material of his shirt. "She's just been a bit over-protective, I guess, since Shelly took off. She gets worried..." 

Butters was watching him when Stan looked up, the blonde's duel-coloured eyes strangely focused. For a moment, Stan felt his breath catch in his throat, before Butters smiled down at him. "Aw, it's nice of her to make sure you're doin' okay, Stan; but we weren't gonna let you go home this evenin'! We need time to catch up! Your Mom will be alright with that." 

Stan felt the tension break, Craig tossing his own phone in Kenny's direction with instructions to "order something before I eat the ugly ass cushions."

Kyle broke away to make tea, the redhead smiling as he pushed a warm mug into Stan's hands as Butters rolled up his pant leg and poked at the bruise forming on Stan's knee. 

"Ooh, that's a doozey!" 

Stan watched them sink back into normality, half wondering if he had imagined the tension; some sort of weird projection of his as soon as any mention was made of his family. His fingers shook as he held the mug still though, his smiles short as the small knot in his chest eased, but never loosened as the evening wore on with scary movies, greasy pizza and games. 

It was a strange night in as much as Stan loved it, his mind still reeling. He went to sleep in Kenny's spare room with Butters in a pull out camping bed beside him, the sound of his sleep so loud to Stan after so long falling asleep to utter silence. 

He drifted faster than he would have done at home, all the same, his eyes heavy with all that had happened that day. 

He was almost positive that he felt Butters fingers against his wrist before sleep took him and he slept without waking for the first time in years.


	5. Welcome... Home?

Stan was dressed in his clothes from the day before. They were rumpled with sleep and they smelled of the clean sheets he had rested so well on during the night. He pulled the sleeves tight over his fists as he sat at the kitchen table, inhaling the scent as he stared down at the half-eaten bowl of porridge. 

"Butters keeps telling me to buy the maple flavoured kind, but that shit just messes with his attention levels man. Too much sugar." 

Stan glanced up at where Kenny was pulling back the curtains, long legs cased in jeans barely stretching as the blonde reached over to snap the ties in place. 

Stan pulled a face. 

"The maple one is better though..." 

Kenny laughed, the sound a snort as he ran a hand through his blonde locks. "Yeah, well, get over it. The shit stuff is better for you."

Stan half-hid a smile. He had woken to just himself and Kenny in the apartment; he had been disorientated enough with the unfamiliar surroundings to just take a seat when Kenny told him so and plonked the bowl of porridge down in front of him. 

Craig and Tweek had left the night before, the blonde Beta pressed face first into the Alpha's front and half-asleep by the time Craig had taken pity on him and herded him out the door. Stan had been sure that Kyle had said he would sleep on the couch, though he had cast a look of doubt at the furniture in question and the logistics of Kyle ever fitting onto it in any way that was comfortable. 

This morning, however, the couch was empty, a stack of blankets folded beside it. The camping bed Butters had spent the night in was just as vacant, though the sheets had been rumpled still when Stan first woke and cast it a bleary look.

"Where are the guys?"

Kenny swiped the cooling porridge out from under his nose, making a face as he dumped what was left into a bin hidden beneath the kitchen sink. The water in the tap spluttered before it gushed out, and the smell of the dish soap Kenny used to clean the bowl and spoon was citrusy and strong. Stan wrinkled his nose. 

"Had to get a few jobs done, we'll meet up with them in a bit." 

Stan stretched, groaning as his shoulders clicked, before lounging back against the wooden chair. There was a prickle of pain across his brow that had not been there the night before, and Stan was fast trying to will the headache away before it even began. His thoughts were sluggish with it. The idea that he had gone and given himself a dose of the flu was one that annoyed him to no end. 

"Are they comin' back here? I've work aswell... What time is it?"

He frowned at his own lack of awareness, searching his pockets for a phone that he knew was not on him. Had Craig left with it last night? That would be a pain in the ass to get back. There was no clock in Kenny's flat, and the sky outside was dull enough with the threat of rain that it could be any time from early morning to afternoon. 

Kenny clucked his tongue, putting the dish cloth to one side and taking his phone out of his pocket to frown at the screen. 

"It's early still, and don't worry about work. Some old lady called your phone this mornin' to say an... Ah... Emma was doin' a home check for a... Parrot? Said she'd handle the shift today, and to make sure you get better." 

Stan frowned. Mrs. Benson had spoken only the day before about a gent a few miles out who had a female parrot and was interested in finding her a mate. Emma, her granddaughter, was who usually did the home checks for all their animals, but she rarely ran a Saturday shift. And... To get better?

"Dude," Stan scowled, "You told Mrs. Benson I was sick? I've a cold, Kenny! I've worked with a cold before!"

Kenny raised a brow down at him, his arms folding over his chest. "Firstly, I didn't, Kyle answered the phone. Secondly, he didn't say you were sick Stan, he said you bashed your knee, which, uh, you kinda did." 

Stan felt his cheeks flush, his eyes darting down to the knee that throbbed dully beneath the leg of his trousers. He could walk on it fine, but there was a definite limp and wince there each time he put too much pressure on the bruised joint. 

He grimaced, putting one hand over his knee and shaking his head. "Right... Sorry... I, ah, I guess standing by a till all day isn't the smartest idea, is it?" 

The smaller boy glanced up at Kenny with a small smile and Kenny rolled his eyes. 

"No, dude, it's not." The blonde frowned suddenly, looking down at Stan before he pulled an orange jacket from the back of a chair and tossed it at Stan. "Put that on, we're goin' outside for a bit and you've definitely got a cold or some shit brewin'." 

The blonde sniffed to emphasise his point when Stan made to argue, making the dark haired boy groan as he shrugged into Kenny's jacket. It was much thicker than his own, and a great deal larger, but Stan was grateful for it. The cold freaking sucked and his own jacket looked pathetic by comparison where they left it hung on the back of the door. 

Kenny's apartment was by the lake, just on the outskirts of town and on the ground floor; a fact Stan was incredibly relieved by as he followed the blonde outside and braced against the wet air that threatened to spit rain with each breeze. The carpark was tiny, with Stan's truck and one other beat up Toyota the only occupants. 

His keys were held aloft when he made to grab for them, Kenny laughing as he pushed him to the passenger side and climbed into the driver's seat himself. 

"Do you even know how to drive?" Stan scowled as he rubbed his fingers, blowing into them as he pushed the buttons that would start the car's weak heater. 

Kenny buckled himself in with a scoff, one hand relaxed across the wheel as he barely glanced back to throw the car into reverse. 

"I can drive, Stan, thanks so much for your confidence in me." The blonde drove in much the same way as he moved, as though there was no hurry big enough in the world to touch off him. He was relaxed against the seat, one hand on the wheel and the other braced on the car door. 

The town was quiet for a Saturday, though with the weather that was threatening, Stan could hardly blame people for staying inside. They passed by smoking chimneys and well-lit shop fronts as they drove through; the heater thawing Stan enough to stop his shivering. "Where are we going?"

Kenny glanced at him, before looking out the window again, a small furrow on his brow. For a moment, Stan thought he might not answer him and he sighed as he opened his mouth to ask the question again. 

"Seriously, Ken..."

"Did you know that Butters stays in Eric's sometimes."

Stan frowned, glancing over at the blonde. Kenny was still lounged back against the seat, his body relaxed as he moved the car through town. 

"Cartman's?" Stan raised a brow, "I didn't, I guess, but I mean they were friendly enough when we were younger... Even if the guy's a dick." 

Kenny's lip twitched, his fingers bracing on the steering wheel. "Eric can be a good guy, when given half the opportunity." He smiled at Stan's skeptical look, eyes flicking briefly from the road. "Don't get me wrong, he's got some pretty shitty opinions and a fair chunk of the Football team aren't any better. Cartman, though, he's got good down in him, even if it gets a little buried beneath the bitterness sometimes." 

Stan scoffed. He had not spoken so much as two words to Cartman in months, those two words being a solid, "fuck you" when Eric made some jab at his lack of presentation. The boy was a star Quarterback, sure; with his build he made the opposing team quake in their fucking boots. That didn't mean that Stan held much reverence for him, or wanted any of his time wasted on trying to get to know him better. Cartman was a shit, not as big a one as he had been when they were kids, granted; but a good looking turd was still a turd as far as Stan was concerned. 

"I don't think I'm gonna be buddy buddy with Eric Cartman anytime soon, Kenny." 

Kenny hummed, taking a turn passed the school that led them off the main road into town. Stan tapped his fingers against his thigh, his eyes narrowing. "Where are we going...?"

"Eric was the one that figured out Butters' parents were beating him." 

Stan felt his fingers freeze, his eyes trained on the road ahead that was bracketed on either side by sparse hedging. He forced himself to take a breath, his face pulling into some semblance of sympathy. 

"I, ah... I didn't know..."

"Butters' dad was beating the absolute shit out of him." Kenny's grip was tight where Stan could see it on the wheel, his knuckles pale. For the briefest moment, there was the scent of something almost sour, something dark, before it was gone and Stan had to believe he had imagined it. 

"Fucker didn't like that his only son presented as Omega; kept spouting these weird ass fuckin' ideas that Omegas were the lowest of the low; some outdated horse-shit. Butters so much as looked at him wrong, he'd get smacked around the place."

Stan clenched his own fingers, his lips pressing into a thin line. It was an opinion he was familiar with, though he had only heard it only the once growing up, and at such a whisper of a sound from his mother's mouth that he often wished he had misheard. 

Omegas were whores. 

Omegas were Breeders built to bend over and produce a population of Betas and Alphas. 

It was an opinion so backward and dated nowadays; that the decrease in the Omega population was down to their genetic instability, their uselessness as anything other than a womb and a birth canal. 

It was a fucking horrendous way of thinking... a poisonous thought that wormed its way as an insecurity beneath the skin of the Omegas who suffered through it. 

It was a broken ideal, one that was sad and disgusting and the remnants of which South Park was still trying to flush out. Stan saw it, he knew it was there... 

He saw it in the way Butters was catcalled and crowded, in the way some guys spoke in haughty whispers about how fucking an Omega would be out of this world. He saw it in their faces, even if he didn't smell it on their scent and it was a pathetic thing to see. 

He took a breath, his nails gripping tight to the skin of his palm. "Butters is fucking amazing. No one in this town is as good as he is..."

Kenny clucked his tongue, his head nodding from what Stan could catch of it. "Which any decent bloke would know straight away. Which is why Eric realised why Butters was spending the nights in his more and more. Which is why Eric noticed the bruises and the busted lip and called me." 

Stan glanced over, eyes wide, to find that Kenny had clenched his jaw, a muscle ticking in the strained point. "He called you?"

"He put Butters in his spare room and he called me." Kenny glanced at him, his eyes dark with something that almost made Stan cower against the car door. Kenny looked back to the road. 

"We drove to Butters' house and collected his things. He doesn't have a lot. His clothes are split between Cartman's and mine, his games are in my console stand." A soft smile, fleeting, "his blankets and stuffies are on my wardrobe. What I'm telling you Stan is that there was a problem that we saw, and the problem was dealt with. The Stotch's know never to come near Butters again, the guy doesn't live at home. We realised what was happening and we fixed it, even if that meant Butters had to tell us all the shit his family put him through; even if he had to show that weakness. We were his friends, we never once turned him away for it." 

It was as though a trickle of ice had slowly begun to slide down Stan's spine, some inkling of thought fluttering like something panicked and wild against the back of his head. His eyes fell back on the familiar road, tarmac turning slowly to gravel and dirt the further they went from South Park and the closer they got to... 

Stan felt his breathing quicken, his cheeks paling of what little colour the heater had worked to put there. 

"Kenny, no..." 

Kenny's eyes were narrowed, his hand reaching out to grip Stan's thigh once in a move that had the smaller boy forcing back tears. 

"Please... I'm not in the same situation..." Stan whispered, the hedging more familiar now as the large, white, farm sign came into view. Stan felt a sob leave his mouth unbidden. 

"They don't hurt me, Kenny, they're just protective... We don't need to go in here..."

Kenny let loose a purr of a sound that stilled the tremor in Stan's hands, even if it did little for his frantic heartbeat. "Nothing's going to happen, Stan. We're going to collect your things and we're going to go back and meet Butters and Kyle for lunch, alright?" 

Stan worked to swallow down the tears, his thoughts flashing back to how he had left the house the day before. Would his mother have cleaned it? Jesus Christ, what if his father was awake. Stan rubbed a hand over his face, his thoughts jumbled and racing together as Kenny pulled in front of the farmhouse. 

Christ, it was sorry looking. 

Had it always looked that sad? Sitting in the misty rain with splotches of shingles missing and paint peeling on the walls. There was a beer bottle smashed across the porch that Stan looked at with a sigh as Kenny walked round the truck to open his door. 

"We don't have to..."

The whisper was a plea, half-lost on the wind, but one Kenny heard nonetheless. He helped Stan down, his arm tight around the smaller boy's shoulders as he slammed the truck door closed. 

"Yes. We do." 

The house was quiet, but Stan had been expecting nothing else. It was freezing, frigid as the outdoors, which told him that his mother had not put the heating on for herself, much less gone to the effort of lighting a fire. The hallway was tidy, and Stan wished they could just stay there as he looked up at the closed kitchen door. 

It wasn't his fault... 

Any of the dirt... The mess... He was just as embarrassed by it as everyone else ought to have been... 

It really felt like his fault though...

Kenny was the one to open the door, and Stan was quick to follow. He grimaced as he saw the cabinet door and broken plates still strewn about the floor and countertop as it had been the morning before. Some shards had been kicked aside enough for Randy to get to the microwave, a half-eaten microwaveable pie beside it that had slowly leaked sauce onto the worktop. 

Stan saw Kenny's nose wrinkle and, for a moment, was grateful that he could not smell the sheer gloom that seemed to waft from the scene. 

His mother was her usual stoic self, lost to everything around her as she stared at the table from her perch on one of the wooden chairs. How long she had been there, Stan had no idea, but there was food in front of her that looked mostly eaten and she had her fingers grasped tight around a glass of orange juice. 

"Mom?" 

The woman jolted to life, her hand shaking and sloshing some of the juice over the rim of the glass. She snapped a glance at him, her eyes clearing for a moment. She looked down at her hand, then back at him as she slowly slid the juice across the table towards where he was standing. 

Stan bit his lip to stop the quiver, his fingers reaching out as though to take the glass, only for Kenny to step in front of him. Sharon's eyes snapped to him, her brow furrowing for a brief moment before she seemed to gather herself and straightened her spine. 

"Kenny McCormack," her voice was strained, unused, but she smiled all the same as though everything was right in the world. "Hello dear, such a pleasure to see you. Will you be staying for breakfast?"

Stan felt a small sound break from his lips. 

How could she do that?

How could see look so dead in the eyes and haunt their home like some wailing spirit... Then turn around and smile at a stranger she had not seen or spoken to in... Christ... Years?

"Good morning Mrs. Marsh. Sorry we won't be able to stay, it's sort of just a flying visit to pick up something for Stan here. How are you doing?"

Sharon was smiling at Kenny still, her eyes blank as she glanced down at the juice again. "Oh dear, Stan can't leave, we need him here. There's just so much to do with running a farm, you see. Stan needs to stay with us today." 

She glanced beside Kenny, her smile dropping as she looked at her son. "Drink your juice Stan, or you'll get sick." 

Stan almost made to move forward automatically, before Kenny gripped his arm. The blonde was not smiling, his face passive and his eyes, oddly... Sad. 

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Marsh. Stan is going to be staying with myself for a while. I'll make sure to take care of him, though, so that he doesn't get sick. We can even meet you for coffee in town after school."

Sharon was watching Kenny, her eyes widening before she suddenly launched herself upwards with a growl that vibrated through the kitchen. Stan felt himself freeze, his heart all but stopping in his chest. 

"No, Kenny!" Sharon hissed, "Stan needs to stay with me! I make sure he's healthy, I make sure he's normal!" 

She snarled, bracing her hands against the table as Kenny held up his hands, the Alpha purring softly so as not to agitate the enraged Beta. Kenny was taller than his mother by a good deal, broader and stronger too, and Stan had no doubt who would win in a fight if that was what his mother wanted.

He paced forward, smiling softly when his mother glared down at him. "It's okay Mom, I can stay here if you want..."

"Stan..."

Kenny's own growl was a warning, and had Stan shivering as the sound snapped against his spine like something physical. Still, he kept his eyes on his mother. 

"I can stay here today... But I want to see the guys more... And I... I don't need juice, Mom... I'm not sick..."

"You are sick!" Sharon all but howled the words, drawing a flinch from Stan as she slammed her hands down on the table and the full glass suddenly toppled, smashing into the floor below. Sharon stared at it, mouth agape, before turning towards Stan. 

The slap was so quick, so vicious and unexpected, that Stan yelped. The strength of his mother's hand hitting his cheek sent him off balance and crashing into the floor with the shards of glass. He had only a moment to be thankful for Kenny's thick jacket as glass crunched beneath him, before the blonde had raced forward. 

There was a snarl, louder and far more fierce than his mother's as the Alpha bore down on the older woman. Kenny's teeth were bared, and sharp, and Sharon screamed as she fell back against the wall, her hands over her head. Stan watched it with his heart in his throat, his breathing loud and frantic as Kenny pointed at him suddenly. 

"Get a bag of everything you want, Stan. Be quick, be efficient." There was a flash in those dark blue eyes as Kenny stood between him and his mother, his body tense. "Now." 

Stan scrambled to his feet, one hand clutching at his throbbing cheek as tears gathered fast to his eyes and he stumbled through the second hallway. 

She had hit him. 

She had actually hit him... 

Stan felt something break in his chest as memories of past years, of his younger self flooded back. 

She had not hit him in so long. 

He had done exactly as she wanted, been so good, for so long. 

Stan's lips parted on a whimper, the sound small and broken as he threw himself towards his chest of drawers. He pulled a backpack from beneath his bed and emptied it of every bit of rubbish. He was blind beneath the tears that were fast filling his eyes as he grabbed shirt after shirt, jeans and tracksuit bottoms and underwear and stuffed them into the backpack. His schoolbag with all his notes and books was at Kenny's still, and as Stan stood in the middle of his bedroom with most of his clothes in one bag; he realised that he had nothing else to bring. 

There was no games console that hadn't already been broken by Shelly years ago, no toys that had not been thrown out when he outgrew them. No sentimental stuff... No pictures... 

Stan looked around his room, and felt his tears fall fast. 

He zipped the bag and shouldered it, one hand trailing across his cheekbone as he made his way back to the hallway. His father's door was closed, though Stan knew that he would have been awake and shouting by now had he even been home at all. 

The kitchen set his skin alight with nerves as he sidled back in, Kenny glancing once at him before he began to slowly back away from where Sharon was still couched against the wall. The woman was wailing, shrieking and crying and rocking herself and Stan felt himself nearly choke on his sobs. 

"Mom... Please..."

Sharon didn't so much as cast him a glance, her words harsh and spiteful. 

"You're gonna get sick just like her. You're gonna get sick and then you're gonna be of no use to anyone... I was helping you, Stanley... I was helping you..."

Kenny gripped him by the arm to drag him away from the woman, the house; the blonde tense as a pulled string even though his touch was gentle.. Stan could not bring himself to look back as he was loaded into the truck, his backpack clutched to his front as he tried to still his breathing. 

"We'll get her help, Stan. We'll call someone to come check on her, I promise." 

Kenny was rubbing his thigh, Stan realised slowly, speaking to him softly as the car started back up and the heater sputtered to life. The blonde pulled away from the drive sharply, a glint of fang still exposed along his lip. 

"But right now I just want you as far away from her as fucking possible. Christ, you're lucky it was me here and not Kyle." 

Stan could do little else but nod as his home faded in the rearview mirror and he wiped the tears from his eyes. 

His cheek gave a throb of pain and he felt his shoulders drop as more tears filled his eyes. He was hurt... He felt guilty... His mind flickered back to his mother wailing against the wall and the sorry state of the kitchen around her and his shoulders began to shake. 

Kenny let him cry without a word, the blonde's hand clamped down gently on his thigh the entire drive back into town.


	6. Just Breathe...

Kyle was half-draped over the trolley in front of him, arms crossed along the bar as he trudged behind a far too excitable Butters. 

"What about pop-tarts? Do you think Kenny will kill me if I bring home pop-tarts?"

"Yes."

"Boo... I'm gettin' 'em anyway. Oooh, a sale on soaps, Kyle, look!"

The redhead dropped his head between his arms, before straightening with a groan and pushing the load of shopping towards where Butters had run off to.   
He loved the Omega, there was little doubt about that. He enjoyed watching him laugh, he got a kick out of his stupid jokes and his energy was something to be admired. Butters was Pack, and there was very little the young man would ever be able to do that would be wrong in Kyle's eyes... 

But all that love did very little when faced head-on with the level of pep and downright jolliness that the blonde could summon on any given morning.   
He was smelling different soaps when Kyle found him around a corner, wrinkling his nose at some and squinting at others as if unsure whether to consider the scent offensive or not. 

"Can Stan smell soap?"

Kyle felt a snort of laughter leave him before Butters' glare drew him up short. He plucked the citrus one out of the blonde's grasp with a roll of his eyes and put it back on the shelf. "Stan can smell soap, Butters. He's not able to process pheromones' and shit, but he can smell this. Nothing with orange or lemon, always smells like crap." 

Butters hummed and turned to toss a coconut scented bottle into the trolley. He stalled for a moment, fingers tapping a gentle rhythm against the metal frame before he sighed. 

"I feel like I'm gonna have to relearn all over again who he is..."

Kyle kept the trolley moving, making sure the blonde was following him as he made his way towards the till. The shop was quiet, a lone older man propping his basket before them on the belt as he huffed about the turn in the weather to the young girl behind the counter. She smiled at him easily, nodding her head in sympathy and tutting in just the right places to appease the old grump. 

"You know Stan, Butters... We all do." Kyle smiled, reaching down to hand over the stuff at the front of the trolley that Butters' fingers couldn't quite grasp. "What's gonna take time is learning how he copes now... And making sure he knows he can talk to us... He should have been able to talk to us. He should have been able to talk to me." 

The redhead sighed, raking his fingers through his hair as he grinned easily at the smiling cashier. He swiped his card to pay, waving a hand towards Butters when the blonde tried to wrestle his wallet out of his pocket to pay half. The Omega's meager spendings came well-earned from his job tutoring younger kids, and Kyle had never so much as taken a penny from him. With the inheritance his great Aunt and Grandmother had left him all those years ago, the Alpha barely bat an eye when it came to buying the essentials for his Pack. 

"Stan's stubborn..." Butters huffed as he helped carry out one of the bags, squinting through the sudden downfall of rain as the pair speed-walked to Kyle's Corolla. The hatchback boot needed a solid tug to open and the blonde wiped his sodden jacket sleeve on his cheek as he loaded in the canvas bag. "But he's also a softie, and if anyone gets him and his whole, 'not wantin' to cause a fuss' dilemma, then it's me." 

The blonde was scowling, partially at the rain, Kyle knew; rain was an ongoing enemy of Butters for the way it made his cow's lick all the more prominent. But it was a scowl that was partially filled with memories that Butters could now understand were of an abusive home. The Alpha tsked as he slammed the boot shut and shuffled the Butters into the passenger seat, ruffling wet, messy blonde locks with one hand as he got himself seated in the driver side. 

"We'll get him to open up, Blondie, don't worry about that. Whatever's been buggin' him at home, or whatever rut he's gotten himself into since his non-presentation... Stan will talk to us. He just needs a safe space to open up, and that's what we're gonna give him."

Kyle saw Butters nod as he started the car and headed back towards the flat. His fingers were lax on the wheel, though he knew himself that there was a tenseness to his jaw. His fangs bared down hard against his gums as he tried to take a breath. 

Whatever had happened to Stan, Kyle would find out. 

###

Stan winced as he touched his fingertips to his cheek, his eyes wide and rimmed red still where they stared back at him from the bathroom mirror. 

He was so stupidly pale that the skin was already bruising, blooming fast and dark where it hurt the most, and drawing a sigh from him as he scrubbed his hands through his dark hair. He pulled on the ends with a grunt, before clenching his fists. 

There was no make up here that he could even begin to hide the mark with, just a salve that Kenny had wordlessly handed him as the blonde pointed him towards the bathroom when they had arrived back in the flat. 

The Alpha had not spoken a word since leaving the farm; his face pinched in what Stan was sure was anger. Of course he was fucking angry. 

Stan had gone and dragged the blonde into his family's problems, dragged one of his friends into the shithole that was his homelife; how could the guy be anything but put out? Stan sniffed, resting his clenched fists on the edge of the sink as he took in a breath that shook the whole way down. 

He had never wanted to bring them into that mess. He had had it under control, he was managing. He would have been able to keep it all a secret, plod along like any other teenager his age should have been able to do. 

Stan blinked the tears away as they threatened the corners of his eyes, shaking his head and picking up the jar of lavender coloured goop with a roll of his eyes. 

But he wasn't like other teenagers his age, was he? 

He was a freakin' anomaly. 

The salve was cold, frigid, and Stan hissed as he slathered it on his cheek until the it was warm and translucent. It smelled of something floral, rich and sweet and he breathed in deep to try and stave off the nausea that was fast battling the little amount of food he had in his stomach. 

With a sigh, he looked up again. 

The boy in the mirror that looked back at him was sad. 

Small and thin and pale and sickly looking beneath the dim glow of the yellow bulb. His hair was a mess, curling about his cheeks from the rain and in desperate need of a decent brush. His face was thinner than he remembered it being, cheeks drawn and eyes dark with circles from sleepless nights. 

He looked like shit. 

Stan blinked away from the sight, pulling open the door with a scowl; he all but stomped down the hallway back to the main space, where he could hear Kenny pottering around in the kitchenette. 

"Kenny, where do I put this jar?"

The face that turned to meet him from the doorway was not Kenny's; and Stan felt his eyes grow wide when Kyle's smile suddenly dropped and the redhead came towards him at an alarming speed. 

He gave a yelp as hands wrapped suddenly tight around his waist, large and firm, as he was lifted off his feet and sat down on the dining table. 

A gentle touch, chilled from the cold outside, turned his face to catch the light streaming in from the nearby window and Stan was met with a furious scowl as green eyes caught his and held. 

"What the fuck, Stan?" 

The words were angry, but Kyle's voice was breathless; light and filled with something Stan couldn't quite name. He felt his lips twist on a grimace and Kyle drew back a fraction.   
The Alpha's eyes were blown wide, his lips clamped firmly shut as a growl threatened to spill from his chest. Stan felt the bare touch of Kyle's fingertips on his chin like nothing else he had ever felt in his life and he swallowed back a whine. 

"I... She... Sorry..." 

Kyle glowered, huffing a sharp snap of a sound that had Stan's own eyes widening and his body going still. 

"Don't you dare fuckin' apologize for somethin' someone else did to you. Who hit you?"

The question was a growl in itself, dark and quiet on Kyle's lips as the redhead drew back a step and whatever had been fogging Stan's mind cleared for a moment. He frowned. 

"She's not... Well... I'm sure she didn't mean it, she hasn't done it in... She wouldn't have if I..."

He was babbling, he knew. The words he wanted to say, the argument he had all but braced himself for had all but puffed out of him the second those hands had caught him around the waist and lifted him as if he weighed little more than a seat cushion. When the fuck had Kyle become that strong?

The Alpha straightened, pinching the bridge of his nose with a withered growl that almost had Stan shrinking back; if he had been able to do anything other than stare up at Kyle...

Like some star-struck lover. 

Jesus Christ... 

Was he...?

Did he...?

"Stan!" 

Butters voice pulled him from whatever spiral he had been hurtling towards; jolting him in his seat as he turned to look at blue eyes filled with worry. 

Butters growled, the sound high-pitched and shrill when compared to the one Kyle had let slip. "Jesus, Stan! They hit you? Seriously?"

The blonde looked distraught, his eyes brimming fast with tears and the shopping bag that he had been carrying forgotten about on the floor. 

"I told you not to freak out!"

Kenny rolled his eyes as he kicked the apartment door shut behind him, two full canvas bags on his arms as he grabbed Butters and all but pushed the smaller boy towards the kitchen. "C'mon, give him some space, we can talk about it after food. Stan's probably fuckin' starvin'."

Butters huffed, but gathered himself together with a sigh, twisting his head back to offer Stan the warmest of smiles. Stan could offer just a fraction of one back, as he watched the Omega reach out to grab a yowling Tinkerbell from the counter the cat had appeared on.

The weight of Kyle's gaze on him was a thing all in itself. Stan felt it even as he was turned to look at the pair in the kitchen, his breath catching in his throat when the Alpha beside him leaned closer. 

There was the briefest scent, something that sparked so suddenly against his nose that he jolted; his head snapping back to stare up at Kyle. It was gone in less than a second, something so sudden he was sure his mind had made it up. Still, those green eyes threatened to burn through him, and while Stan had never thought himself much of a masochist... There was a part of him that would almost happily be burnt alive in that stare. 

Kyle cooed a soft sound, sweet beneath the rumble of a purr that stilled Stan's shaking hands. He felt his oldest friend trace the blooming mark on his cheek once more before the redhead sighed and dropped his hand. 

"We need to talk about this, you understand that, right?" 

When Stan's response was a wrinkle of his nose and a scowl on his brow; Kyle grinned down at him; a flash of fang still hinted at beneath his lip. 

"Good, glad you understand."

###

"So, we spend a fair amount of free time here, seeing that it's one of the spots where we can all kinda be ourselves without someone pokin' their nose in, y'see? I mean, Craig's house is good 'cause his parents work away a lot, 'specially durin' the day, and Tweek's house is much the same."

A pause, thoughtful, before Butters snorted and continued his barrage of information. 

"Kyle's house isn't great, his Mom's usually at home, but sometimes she and Gerald visit family in Jersey for weekends so then it's brilliant. Ike's a howl, too... But Kenny's the first of us to actually have his own place, y'know? We don't get no bother from anyone here. I mean, I think this is a good spot for you to stay... I'm sure Eric wouldn't mind you joinin' me at his every so often, though, if you prefer?"

Stan grimaced around his mouthful of pasta, swallowing it down with a shake of his head. "Thanks and everything, Butters, but Cartman's not exactly high up there on my list of people I'm happy sleepin' alongside."

Craig snorted from his spot beside Stan at the dining table, Tweek fast to hiss a 'don't' in his direction that did little to stop the next thing out of the Alpha's mouth. 

"Imagine not wanting to sleep with Eric Cartman." 

Butters flushed scarlet as Stan dropped his fork with a start. "That's not what I meant!"

"Leave off, Craig." Kyle rolled his eyes, pushing Stan's fork back towards him and pointing his own towards the couple that had arrived just in time for food. "Tweek, control your   
man." 

The blonde spluttered, half-spilling his glass of water down his front in an effort to get some sort of response out. Craig took it in with an easy smile, taking the glass away and lifting his own just as Tweek spread out his hands in a guileless gesture. 

Craig's response time was on parr with something supernatural when it came to his mate, Stan was sure of it. In the short space they had settled down to eat, Craig had so far saved the blonde's fork from hitting the floor three times, and both glasses of water from being spilled. 

There was a familiarity between the two that was warming, and just as present between Kenny and Butters; the pair handing over seasonings and salads with not a word spoken between them. Butters had barely wet his lips on the third bite of food before Kenny was sliding the glass of milk towards him that he had set in front of himself and the blonde was gulping it down with a smile. 

It was a closeness that Stan was almost afraid to thread near, a pattern that he had spotted some time before; though it had never dawned on him to anticipate that all of that familiarity and friendship was because they had started to become an actual Pack. 

It was also one of the main reasons why he had begun to pull away... 

Perhaps one of the only reasons why he should continue to pull away... 

Who was he to belong to a Pack? The thought was an errant one as he watched Kyle nod to something Kenny had said while refilling Stan's glass of water and passing it to him with a smile. 

There was no way he wasn't going to fuck this up too.

The sob that broke from his throat was sudden, and loud in the gentle chatter. 

It was unexpected enough that he clapped a hand across his lips to still another. Stan felt his shoulders shake, his vision suddenly blurred by what he knew where tears and he felt the familiar caress of shame like something dark and ugly bearing over him. 

It was a feeling he was no stranger to. 

It loomed like some unimaginable ghost, hovering behind him and above his head as his senses dulled the world around him and he clutched one hand tight enough in his hair to hurt. His breath was a panicked thing in his chest, ticking fast and useless with each desperate gasp he tried to take in... 

Dread sat like perfectly, polished stones in his stomach; each stamped with their own memory of everything that had ever gone wrong or could go wrong and weighing him down until...

Until...

Until there was a hand on his throat so suddenly he jerked, tilting his head up to stare blearily at a ceiling warped with the spill of his tears. Fingers stroked down the column of his neck, firm and warm and Stan felt his breathing ease even as sobs still racked his body. 

He was pressed back against something solid, warm and soft; a body that wrapped another arm tight enough around his waist to ground him down. 

There was a voice in his ear, gentle, but louder still than the whisper of shame and fear that lingered still along the edges of his mind. 

"I've got you, Stan... You're alright... Just breathe for me, yeah?"

Just breathe... 

Stan closed his eyes tight over the next breath he tried to force down, his fingers latching hard to Kyle's arm around his waist. His nose tickled with some non-existent scent, sharp and cold against senses lost to his panic. 

Just breathe. 

He was alright.

Just breathe...


	7. A New Way to Navigate

In the few days that followed his outburst; there was a tension. 

There was a tension that even Stan could feel, despite Kenny's friendly banter and Butters' warm smiles. The air was thick with it, and had he even an inclination of scent, then Stan was sure that he would have choked on the unspoken words flittering between the members of the Pack. 

Hell, even Tinkerbell seemed to feel it; the scruffball cat having taken to prowling the countertops and screaming blue murder for attention when a room grew too quiet.  
Stan would take the incessant yowling any day over the weight of Kyle's gaze when it settled over him. 

Though the redhead had left him alone after the incident, and given him space when Stan had run mortified into the nearest room; he had also not spoken a single word for Stan to gauge what reaction his friend may have been having to all this. 

Craig was stoic, but his concern was a palpable thing in his frown and the way he nudged Tweek towards Stan each time the smaller boy felt as though he might get lost in his thoughts. Stoic, as was Tucker's brand, but concerned all the same. 

Tweek was as transparent as Butters when the pair came to proclaiming Stan's fragility, careful conversations on banal topics were growing incessant; and Stan was not entirely sure whether he liked being ignored more. They were tactile in a way he was unused to, patting his head in passing or brushing against him in the same way Tink did when the cat was seeking a rub. 

It was... 

New. 

It was a custom that he was unsure of, a custom that Kenny was enforcing in the gentlest of manners if his own bare touches and gentle questions were any indication.  
He would have almost called it a means to coerce a response out of him, if it were not for the fact that they seemed to do it for the touch alone it provided. As a group, they were a tactile bunch; and Stan had not been around other Packs to anywhere near enough a degree to know whether that was simply the way of it. 

Still, there were no questions asked about his sudden panic attack, no mention of his blackening cheek, though he would often catch one of the Pack staring at the spot from the corner of his eye. 

It was almost as if they were waiting. 

Waiting for him to speak on his own... Or waiting for another attack, Stan was not entirely sure. 

There were times when he wanted to break the soft tension over the course of the weekend; when it was almost on the tip of his tongue to start talking... About home, or his  
mother... His father or Shelly... About... Anything that snuck its way beneath his skin... 

There were times when he wanted to speak to them. 

And then he would catch Kyle's eye and shame would well despite the calm look the redhead aimed in his direction... Or he would glance at Butters making some stupid joke and  
guilt would drag an unfriendly finger roughly against his spine. 

What right did he have to break the peace they had built for themselves, with his drama? To burden Kyle with how shit he thought things were at times... The redhead had never once indulged in Stan's own destructive mindset and he could now firmly understand why. Being bleak himself was a thing he could handle, was a thing he had been dealing with and could continue to deal with. 

Making someone else bleak with just your existence was an altogether different type of shitty. 

Butters had been through so much, for such a long time... Even Kenny, strong as the guy was, had been subject to his own crappy childhood and the influence it had had on him.  
Stan's few moments of turmoil, and his folk being bad parents, couldn't compare with half the shit some of his friends had been through. It was not something he wanted to put a voice to, to put a name on; because he was petrified that saying it aloud would highlight it for the mediocre life it was. 

Not a good upbringing, he knew that... But, as far as he could guess, not the worst?

There were worse things in life he could have experienced... He should be grateful...

Right?

He jolted with the sound of the bell, his back smacking against the hallway lockers he had been leaning against, as he waited by the school's bathroom door.

Monday had come around so quickly, so mundanely after everything that had happened. He had barely registered when Butters had woken him that morning with a chuckle; scowling at the blonde until the mere mention of the word 'school' had him groaning into the bedsheets. 

Despite the thoughts flitting about his head, classes took place as they had always done; the teachers weary from the weekend and letting far too much slide in regards to chatter and muffled giggling. Stan was pulled into a seat between Butters and Tweek for the periods he shared with them, eyeballed in the classes he shared with Craig and all but smothered in the classes often spent between Kenny and Kyle. 

It was an awkward way of trying to find his footing in a school where Packs were neatly formed, and everyone held a routine. There were moments when he knew he had done something unexpected in the little sighs Kenny let out as he dragged him back into a different seat. There were moments when he knew his senses had failed him when Craig pushed him a step to one side as some Jock or Goth or wayward youth came barreling to get to where they needed to be. 

Stan had spent so much of his time learning to be alone and migrate the halls while staying invisible, and he felt all the more alarmed now then he had done in the weeks after his realisation that he would not be presenting. There was a pattern he was failing to see in how hallways were managed and what groups walked with what groups; an almost hierarchy of Packs in regards to age and number and general attitude. 

What he was getting from the odd blank stare aimed at him and what Kyle or Tweek or Butters got were two very different things, as the group moved from class to class, or  
through the lunchroom. 

He was beginning to dread even agreeing to attempt something so ridiculous as him being part of a Pack... 

What the hell was he thinking?

Stan's thoughts shattered to a stop as he collided with someone suddenly, the force of where their arm had hit his chest sending him backwards into a yelping Tweek. 

The blonde caught him awkwardly, straightening him with a grimace to his face as Stan peered from him to whoever he had bumped into. 

The snarl that ripped across the canteen chatter was loud, and abrasive to the ears; but it was nothing on the growl Kyle had caught him off the hop with only days prior and Stan felt his brow furrow as he looked up at Clyde. 

"Ah... Sorry?"

The Beta was a good head taller than him, as charmingly good looking as he had always been when they were younger, were it not for the scowl on his face. He bared his fangs down at Stan and, for a moment, the dark haired boy felt a thrill of fear race down his spine. 

Why the fuck had he not been watching where he was going?

Spending most of his time studying and avoiding people in libraries meant that Stan was not often on the cusp of anything more heated than an English debate; and often missed out on the everyday hormonal interactions between teens. He realised quite suddenly that his friends had been doing him more of a favour than he initially thought, by being as careful as they were with their actions... 

And their growls. 

Clyde was asking something of him, he was sure of it, in each second that the taller boy's expression darkened as Stan stood stock still and did nothing. At Stan's helpless shrug, the taller boy growled and stepped forward, his teeth snapping in a move that had Tweek half-stepping from behind to snarl back at the boy. 

The noise was winded, high and shrill, but it seemed to pull Clyde up short, while the growl Craig let loose most certainly drove both him, and the Jocks around him, back a pace or two. Clyde snapped a noise of irritation, scowl sharp, as he glanced up at Craig and rolled his eyes. "Seriously?" The brunette scoffed, sneering down at Stan. "What a waste of a Pack member..."

Stan winced at the hiss Craig let loose, the Alpha's fangs flashing once in a move that had someone else gripping hard on Clyde's shoulder and pulling the startled brunette back. 

"No harm done, I say, we'll just be on our way, then." 

Token grinned as he stepped forward, tilting his head in Craig's direction, before he slanted a sly look to one side. Stan spotted Kenny just a scant few feet away, the blonde's arms crossed in front of his chest as he glared down at Clyde. 

Craig huffed something of a growl, his face smoothing out as he put out his arms to push both Tweek and Stan towards the blonde. He locked a glance with Token that Stan felt held a weight that was frigid... Filled with things unsaid. 

There was a history there, and a bad one, if the bared grin the dark Alpha aimed at Craig was any indication. Though Tucker did nothing to react, barr lift an unimpressed eyebrow as Token's Pack moved on, his eyes were dark when he looked back at Stan. 

###

All in all, Stan reckoned the school day could have been much worse of a shit-show then it had been. 

Most stares and whispers he had learned to ignore at this point in his life, even if they did draw the odd aggravated sound from his friends. 

Still, as relieved as he was to be back in the apartment after a somewhat successful day, Stan would have had to be blind to not see that some of his... Pack, did not exactly share his sentiments. 

Blind, and deaf. 

Butters was stirring some type of sauce with a vengeance in the kitchen, stopping every so often to glare over the counter at where Kenny was fiddling with the television remote. 

"You'd swear they had nothing better to do with their lives but gossip! I mean, good gosh, have they no other form of bloody entertainment?"

Stan winced where he sat, crouching over Tink, though the cat seemed not at all interested in Butters' sharp, little snarl of aggravation. 

"There's no harm in it..."

"Not to mention that half of what they're saying is just random speculation," Tweek was nodding as he upended a bag of rice into a pot beside the one Butters was glowering into. "As if it's any of their business how Stan gets about or what we do as a Pack!" 

Kenny hummed a sound of agreement, casting a glance over at the fuming pair before he sidled in next to Stan on the couch with a sigh. 

"It doesn't matter what they say." He tried to interject, lips tilting in a smile when Butters scoffed at him and levelled the wooden spoon in their direction. 

"They're still not allowed say shit about my bloody Pack." 

The Omega's lips curled on a growl and Stan almost felt a flash of agreement, before Kenny was chuckling beside him. The blonde spared a look down at him as he flicked on some random show. 

"Whatever they say about Alphas being the territorial ones," The blonde whispered, leaning back in his seat, "Bullshit."

Stan watched Butters and Tweek hype each other up as they moved about the kitchen, his eye catching Kyle's where the redhead was leaning against the dining table. Kyle closed one green eye on a wink as he shook his head at the pair and Stan couldn't help but grin back. 

"Omegas are mean little shits when someone gets nasty about the state of their Pack." Craig took the armchair beside them with a groan, reaching a hand up to cover his eyes as if that might block out the huffing going on in the kitchen. "Betas like Tweek that verge on the more submissive side can get just as antsy... And don't even think of saying anything bad about their goddamn Nests." 

"Nests?" Stan frowned, tucking his fingers under Tink's chin to hear the kitten purr like a small tractor. "I thought those were things Omegas build during... Ehm..." 

Kenny snorted a laugh, sinking lower in the couch when Butters aimed a suspicious glare in his direction.

Craig glanced at Stan. "They are. Omegas build Nests when in Heat, or they build them when pregnant. But a Nest or a Den also refers to a home. This apartment is our Pack's temporary Den; it's where we spend the majority of our time and where we feel safest." 

Stan hummed, mouth drawing down in thought. "You don't feel safe anywhere else?"

Craig seemed to grimace at the question. "Not exactly..."

"Alphas are on guard... Almost all the time. Home is where you should be able to let that guard down." 

Kyle's voice had Stan glancing up as the redhead rounded the couch to take a seat on a well-worn footstool. His tall form was hunched on the small stool, elbows braced on his knees in a move that almost made the Alpha seem bigger. He smiled at Stan. 

"Basic Biology isn't exactly high up there on your list of classes to listen in on, is it?" 

Stan flushed, shrugging a shoulder lightly. "I mean, I read the textbook and follow the stuff I need to to get a decent grade; but when she starts prattlin' on about common etiquette and non-essential biological tips... That's usually my queue to get some homework done." 

Kenny was nodding, his knee knocking against Stan's. "No harm, dude. Makes sense, half of this stuff doesn't really apply to you so no need to fill your head with half the shit Ms. Ornell's goin' on about." 

Kyle rolled his eyes. "As if you listened to half the shit that's bein' talked about in any of the classes, Kenny." 

The redhead glanced back at Stan as Kenny cackled, his smile easy. "Like I said, Alpha's are on constant alert. Our hormones are too new, flooding the system too quickly; it can take years to adjust to it, mentally and emotionally as well as physically. Every little thing that can be perceived as a threat, will be perceived as a threat. And not a minor threat, either. We go from a solid ten to ninety with any given altercation. The body is ready to fight, and fight hard, the second we see a Pack mate in trouble, or hear someone talk shit about them, or our Nests are threatened, or if we hear an Omega or Beta's scream." 

Kenny shuddered alongside him, the blonde turning to stare at where Butters had calmed down enough to be laughing at Tweek's disgust at having spilled something on his shirt. "Yeah, I've had my fill of one of those for a lifetime, thanks.." 

"As in, if someone's screaming for help?" Stan frowned, "you guys had someone scream for help, like that?"

The three Alphas were silent, each of them suddenly tense; though it was Craig that heaved a sigh that was almost a growl. 

"They're talking about me." 

Stan glanced up to find Tweek half-smiling down at him as the blonde wiped his hands on a tea-towel. His blue shirt was wet through from an attempt to clean it of the spill. "I... Uh... I uhm, presented when I was over at... Clyde's house... We were, ahh... We were waiting on Craig."

The blonde's flush was rising with his words, his blue eyes bright as he tapped his fingers against his lip suddenly. Tweek smiled down at Craig when the Alpha made the most helpless sound, reaching out to rub the back of his neck fondly. "My presentation set Clyde off... and, uhm... Well... It set off Token as well... Some people have a hard time hearing no... I guess..." Blue eyes grew dark, and Stan almost wished he was brave enough to ask Tweek to stop. There was something haunted in the boy's face that chilled him to the core. 

But in the next moment, his expression seemed to clear, his hair curling about his face as he shook his head and grinned suddenly, a soft purr in his throat that seemed to warm the frigid tension his words had created. 

"But Craig wasn't far off, he heard me. Kenny had been in Kyle's a few doors down and, embarrassingly, those two heard me as well, and I had three very good guys come to help me out..."

Tweek chuckled as he was pulled onto Craig's lap, the Alpha's face buried in the blonde Beta's neck. "It's not... Well, it's not really something you ever think about having to do, or whether you could do it, it's..."

"Instinct." Butters said as he plonked a rice pot on the table with a smile. "It's instinct. It just happens. Now get up here and eat, the lot of you." 

The dark atmosphere went as quickly as it had filtered through, and Stan watched the Pack spring to life about him. 

His eyes caught on Kyle's as the redhead held a hand out for him, Stan's own small and pale in his grasp. 

Did an Alpha have a scream too?


End file.
